Veronica Mars: Year Four
by Ben Alexander
Summary: Events that took place over the summer leave Veronica Mars obsessed as she enters her Sophomore year at Hearst. Then, a fraternity is blown up, killing fourteen members. Three mysteries set before her, can she solve them all without getting hurt? Season 4
1. The Day the Quad Stood Still

**Introduction**

So, this is a continuation of the best series of all-time: _Veronica Mars. _The story will vary between Veronica's POV and Third Person. When it switches to third person, a word/group of words such as **Logan's **or **Mac's **will appear. This is more similar to the first and second seasons of the show and hopefully will do justice to the untimely death of our beloved persnickety sleuth. If you need me to explain what the title references, please drop your query in your review.

**The regulars:**

Veronica Mars  
Logan Echolls  
Cindy "Mac" MacKenize  
Dick Casablancas  
Wallace Fennell  
Leo D'Amato  
Eli "Weevil" Navarro  
Keith Mars

**Veronica Mars:  
****Year Four**

**Chapter One: The Day the Quad Stood Still**

The testosterone-charged surf of the day-- the scantily-clad girls chasing after a summer fling-- a summer in Neptune. _So _sorry I missed out this time around-- wait, scratch that. I don't care. Where'd I spend my summer you might ask. Well, the possibility of an internship at the FBI was too tempting to pass up-- I spent my summer two thousand five hundred and seventy four miles away from Neptune California-- and it still didn't feel like enough.

I left for Washington June 9th-- a day sandwiched between two life-altering events; the day before Wallace's departure for Africa-- and the day after the results of the sheriff election were tallied. In short, Dad lost. Again-- well, at first… But that's skipping ahead…

---

The plane ride is a blur-- okay, I've always hated flying so I slept through it. I woke up right as we were landing-- perfect timing, right?

Still groggy, I got off and found out that this guy who'd been sitting a few rows in back of me on the plane was a fellow intern-- we shared a cab to the hotel we'd be staying at for free courtesy of the FBI and got to talking; he seemed like a great future colleague-- charming, handsome-- he had a girlfriend back home who'd been in my Calculus class.

Too bad he turned out to be such an ass.

_---_

The door opens.

"Miss Fennell," I greet.

"Hello, Veronica," she replies.

"How's Wallace?" I ask-- it seems like the millionth time since August.

Before she can answer, my name is called: "Veronica!"

Wallace. I still hate looking at him. I don't know what does it to me-- anger--? compassion-?- empathy? Try all of the above; Wallace spent his summer in Darfur-- helping people-- and someone thought it'd be downright rebellious of them to leave a packaged bomb outside the door.

Wallace picked it up.

It blew off his right hand.

---

I got the call mid-August; the week before I was due home.

Dad's the one who told me; I cried for about an hour, called my supervisor and explained the situation; he gave me the okay to take the next flight home. I did.

There was a lot of waiting around; me and Dad stayed in the living-room whenever he wasn't at work. Miss Fennell kept us posted on Wallace's condition-- there were a few days we weren't sure if he'd live or not.

A couple weeks after his surgery, Wallace was discharged from the hospital and Dad and I drove to the Fennel's to see him.

Overcome with emotion, I started crying the second I saw him. He looked so-- so _different; _paler-- he'd lost weight.

"How's it going, buddy?" I asked, trying to sound calm despite the altogether wildness of the situation.

"Better… I guess," he sounded indifferent; I'm pretty sure I'd be at least a _little _angry if I lost a hand-- maybe that makes Wallace a stronger person than me. Who knows. He showed me the stump of his right arm, "Makes me wish I was a leftie."

---

Wallace climbs into the passenger-seat of the car gracefully-- I guess I expected the opposite.

"Are you sure you're ready?"

Wallace turns around; his mother is watching him-- worry in her eyes.

"I'm fine, Mom," he replies.

"Bye Miss Fennell."

"Bye Veronica. Wallace, be--"

"I'm _fine, _Mom."

With that said, we begin the trek up to Hearst, "Now that the freshman fifteen's behind us, let's remember to avoid carbs at _all _costs-- we really _should _make our role models the lovely girls of the Theta Zeta Beta sorority."

Wallace laughs; I still find it hard to believe that he can laugh.

What Wallace _doesn't _know-- and maybe it's better that he doesn't, I'm doing my damndest to try and find out whoever blew off his hand.

---

"Mac."

"Veronica."

I slide into the seat beside her, "So, how's our love life treating us?"

"Max is as great as ever-- the illustrious college dropout he is."

"So, that whole thing didn't put a damper on your relationship?"

"Surprisingly not-- I decided let him make his own mistakes-- they're not going to effect me. _His _money earning technique isn't going to get me to stop from getting full points in this class without trying."

She and I signed up for one of those Info Technology courses-- a joke yes, but ten credits nonetheless.

"How's yours?"

"Well-- nonexistent. I haven't really had time for dating what with the internship, Dad, and Wallace since the breakup."

Did I mention that Piz and I are officially over?

---

A couple days after my arrival in Washington, I got a voice message. From Piz. Thinking it'd be the usual "Hope your internship is doing great," I gave it an eager listen. I found an "We need to talk" instead.

I called Piz after listening to the message about ten times to make sure I'd heard right. In less than five minutes, we were broken up. Over the phone-- I guess that's what pisses me off the most-- I mean, sure I've had bad breakups-- but at least every time, it was done in _person-- _I mean, how callous is it to end a relationship standing somewhere _thousands _of miles away?

The reason? I'm still not entirely sure-- I vaguely remember Piz saying something about me being able to "get over it quickly."

After that, I didn't here from Stosh Piznarski again-- and to be frank, I don't care to.

---

"Hey, you're the one who solved the Dean's murder last fall, right?"

"The same."

I turn around to find a kid I don't know-- a more-than-slight acne problem and a bulbous nose. How do these people find me?

"Veronique, right?"

"Veroni_ca. _Mars. Private investigator," I still give myself chills whenever I say that-- if only I had business cards to hand out to do the bit properly.

"Yeah, whatever-- look, I need a favor."

---

After school, I pick Wallace up and drop him off at his home before heading over to the office.

"How was your first day?" he asks casually.

"Abysmal. Why?"

"I saw Piz-- he asked about you."

"I'm flattered. How was your day?"

"Eh… There was some staring-- I guess it's expected. Anything exciting at all?"

"I got the first case of the year-- didn't even catch the client's name."

The case ended up being one of those two hour things; a missing wallet if you'll believe it; I ended up finding it in the kid's Creative Writing classroom-- the professor had picked it up and was safe-keeping it for him.

An easy hundred bucks.

I guess my Private Investigator career is beginning to flourish.

---

"V Mars, PI."

Did I mention I love the sound of that?

A deep breath is taken by the caller-- I know what (s)he's going to say before the words pour out of his/her mouth, "I think my husband's cheating on me."

A woman-- or a cross dresser. That'd make the case a bit more interesting-- the likelihood of that one is a bit fleeting though.

I explained the going rates; in a couple of minutes, I'd gotten the client's address and license plate number of her husband; I ran the plate number: one Stephen Thompson. Hearst alumni, avid skier, yada yada yada.

"Hey, Veronica."

Dad. I shut off the computer and turn around to face him, "Hey," I greet, "How was work, Sheriff Mars?"

"The usual. Caught a coke dealer-- sent him to prison. Leo handled the paperwork. How was school?"

I made a fake yawn, "Fine. I got a case-- got another just right now-- I'm holding an old-fashioned stake-out to catch an adulterous businessman-- just like old times when I called you Boss."

"You never called me Boss."

"Okay, maybe I exaggerate sometimes."

"Wealthy family?"

"Probably-- usually is-- poverty usually prevents infidelity; a poor family is a happy family after all."

"When are you leaving?"

"Right now-- I'll grab some drive-through."

"Junk food is good food."

"Okay, I'll see you when I get home-- I'll try to get the money shot before midnight."

Grabbing my keys, I head out the door.

"Veronica," I turn, "be careful."

"As always, Sheriff Mars."

Okay, you might be confused-- I know I said Dad lost the election and all that good stuff, but there's more to it than that.

---

The major reason Dad lost the election 30 to 70 in favor of his opponent Vinnie Van Lowe was due to evidence disappearing right under Dad's nose-- evidence that concerned me. Dad was behind it all-- one of the reasons I was fuming at him for about a month after I left home.

While in Washington, however, I got an envelope from Mac: I opened it to find a newspaper. The headline: _"Vinnie's Friends in Lowe Places." _I read on to find that an "anonymous tipster" had sent in pictures of Vinnie in obvious cahoots with the Fitzpatricks-- and helping carry out quite illegal actions.

An anonymous vote chose to re-embrace Dad as Neptune's sheriff.

So, Vinnie lots his job-- his trial is set to begin this December-- best of all, his first job as official sheriff, Dad put Liam Fitzpatrick behind bars. The crime of Neptune is at an all-time low and Dad and I are best friends forever again.

---

I took a long sip of the Diet Coke I'd picked up at Jack in the Box. The carbonation was gone-- how long had I been here? I checked the time on the dashboard: 11:47-- over three hours. I'd picked up the guy as he left work-- he'd met up with the hussy-- or whoever she was at a house a couple blocks away from Weevil's.

No money shot as of yet.

They must be having the time of their life.

My phone rings: it's Dad. I pick up, "Hey."

"Hey. You all right-- you sound--"

"Nope, just tired. The guy should be out soon-- they've been in there canoodeling well over three hours. I'll be back by one."

"What happened to twelve?"

"Sorry. Don't wait up for me-- I'll be fine. Mr. Sparky's tucked away safe in the glove compartment."

"All right, baby-- just be safe."

We say our goodbyes and hang up; he's been acting like that lately-- more overprotective, I mean-- ever since what went down in Washington. It was nothing life-_threatening _or anything but that's what dads do. It's their job: they worry.

The door to the house opens, "Finally."

I snag five incriminating shots of the ill-fated lovers and zoom off into the distance before I can be spotted.

---

**Logan's**

He hears Dick's snoring in the other room but doesn't bother to shut him up-- Dick met up with some skanky tramp on the beach that day-- she'll wake him up before long: "Ow, what was that for?" he cracks a smile at Dick's annoyance.

Summer was a bust; after Parker's and his breakup and her deciding _not _to return to Hearst for Sophomore year in conjunction with Dick's father's legal troubles, Logan had spent half the time at the beach trying to get his mind off of Parker and Veronica and the other half of the time in the hotel room trying to ignore the urges to slap Dick out of his nearly catatonic state in which he spent the whole day drinking and bitching about Beaver-- scratch that, Dick now only referred to him as Cassidy: "All he ever wanted was to be loved, you know? And all he got was crap from Dad, me, then Kendall-- and Mom didn't seem to give a rat's ass about him either-- I remember one time-- he was eight or nine-- and Mom decided to take her family skiing in the Alps-- Cassidy begged to go for _weeks, _man-- and Mom told him in the end she just didn't want a 'nuisance' coming along. Can you believe that, man? She called him a goddamn _nuisance-- _and that's _nothing _compared to what I called him." This speech-- among Dick's similar rantings about forgotten birthdays, pantsings at NHS and various other glimpses into the troubled childhood that drove Cassidy to a suicide-- Dick seemed to forget now that he'd also managed to kill about a dozen people.

Logan rolls over, gets out of bed and turns on the tube. _The Big Lebowski _is on.

He can't sleep.

He has Veronica on his mind.

---

**Logan's**

He wakes up almost forgetting he has a class today.

He calls for room-service (a bagel and coffee-- nothing too fancy), and dresses as Dick sees his one-night stand out of the room, "I had a nice night," she says.

"Me too," Dick says before slamming the door in her face-- he doesn't even bother to kiss her goodbye.

Since his father's incarceration, Dick's been "spending the night" with a different girl each and every night-- Logan's lost count.

"Not seeing her again," Dick says, slightly disgusted.

"Your bluntness surprises me."

"She told me in the sack in the middle of-- y'know-- she told me that my face scractched her-- she said I needed a shave."

"How rude of her," Logan replies sarcastically.

The doorbell rings, "Room service?" Dick asks hopefully.

"I didn't order the breakfast champagne or anything-- you'll have to do that yourself."

Logan answers the door, tips the server and heads out the door after eating his breakfast in a haste in order to avoid Dick's morning lamentation.

---

The following evening, after school, I phone Mrs. Thompson. She's at the office in about five minutes; her hair's messed up, her makeup less than perfect. She left the house in a rush-- I almost hate handing her the evidence that's going to destroy her marriage.

She looks through the photos carefully; at the end, she basically lets out a high-pitched shriek of despair, "What is it?" I ask almost scared.

"This woman…"

"Lydia Peters… a dental assistant."

"Is my mother."

"Wow."

"You're sure they're--"

"…being intimate? He was there for almost four hours-- I'm sorry, Mrs. Thompson."

Her shrieking subsides into a gentle sobbing; mumbling a "Thank you," bewildered, she heads out the door.

Talk about a drastic change-up from the usual adulterous husband I-can-solve-this-with-my-eyes-closed-case.

---

The following day, I head directly for Hearst without picking Wallace up-- I've memorized his schedule for him and he doesn't have a class today.

Class drones on as usual; an unexpected pop quiz on the first day of my second Criminology course proves an easy A-- although it also riles up my fellow classmates.

---

Class ends.

I head for the car.

It's then that I hear it-- an explosion.

I turn around to find one of the fraternity houses up in smoke-- the smell of it is awful. In a matter of seconds, a crowd forms around me.

And the worst part of it is, we can actually _hear _the people inside as those who have survived the initial explosion slowly and painfully burn to death…


	2. Watchful Waiting

**Chapter Two: Watchful Waiting**

"Thank God it wasn't one of the sororities," I turn around to face one Hallie Piatt; bi-curious member of the Theta Zeta Beta sorority who'd got into the pants of _both _Selma Hearst Rose and her then-husband, Budd. Talk about libidinal drive-- it almost figures she'd be unphased by seeing fourteen charred and as-of-now unidentified bodies being wheeled out on stretchers from the pile of rubble that remains of the building. That's what I hate about these damn sorority girls; always worrying more for themselves than others.

Dad's here; he'll be holding a press conference in a couple of hours. He looks up from the rubble and spots me; I give him a strained smile-- just to let him know I'm all right.

"_Finally, _something good happens around here."

I turn to the side to see Nish Sweeney surrounded by a small cluster of her loyal feminist followers-- by the look of things, she's picked up a few incoming Freshman to join the clan.

"How can you be so cold?" I ask angrily.

"What do you care, Veronica? You've signed away any respect I could _ever _hold for you after that Piz tape…" I redden as her fellow feminists nod their heads in agreement. Nish continues, "I couldn't believe you'd been reduced to a common slu--"

"Watch your language there, Ma'am," a brown hand clamps down on her shoulder. It's Weevil.

"Thanks, Weevil. We'd better get over here before the media swoops in like the vultures they are. Thanks for the reality-check, Nish-- I'm really going to take to heart advice from an untalented journalist who's never going to get anywhere in life. And Hallie--" she turns to face me, "--nice implants! You can hardly tell they're fake. Did Budd pay for them before or after you seduced his wife?"

A few members of the crowd gasp; I guess they weren't familiar with Hallie's oh-so-interesting sexual conquests; it's great to enlighten people.

"Let's get you out of here before you cause a riot."

Weevil and I head off through the crowd.

"Did that blonde job say anything to you today?"

"No, actually-- she said something that an_noy_ed me. So, a shot at her boob job and string of lovers was a must."

"Still the same Veronica."

"As always."

"So, how's the PI business treating you?"

"It's pretty okay considering no one expects a cute blonde to be packing thousands of volts worth of tasering; a necessary ruse for the biz."

"So, who do you think is behind it?"

"Who knows? If Nish and her allies ever took the opportunity to study up on explosives, I wouldn't put this past them-- what a tragedy… Their parents…"

"How's your friend-- Wallace--?"

"You heard?"

"Yeah."

"He's better. He's basically acting like nothing happened…" We come to a halt in front of my car, "I'd better get home… I've got a hungry pit-bull to feed-- not to mention a date watching Neptune's very own Keith Mars's first press conference of 2007."

"Drive careful, V."

"You too."

---

Driving home, the day's events swim before my eyes-- almost blurring my vision; the explosion-- and Weevil's mention of Wallace.

I'm not about to stand around and let these things go unsolved-- I learned a harsh lesson in Washington and I'm not about to let history repeat itself-- not in this day and age.

---

A day after arriving, the internship began.

In addition to Chris Huber (the guy I mentioned earlier), four other guys and two other girls from across America had been invited for various reasons to take part in the internship. Other than Chris, I'm not going to mention names; no one too special. No one said a thing against me; they kept to themselves as did I.

The first few days of the internship went along swimmingly; nothing too special. Our supervisor gave us the protocol for dealing with suspected serial killers, rapists and whatnot-- okay, I might've rolled my eyes a couple times-- but no one noticed and I nonetheless took notes along with my fellow "classmates."

That's basically how I thought the entire summer would go.

I was wrong; four days later, a body was found.

If it wasn't for Chris Huber, his selfishness and stupidity, the killer would be behind bars awaiting trial.

---

I pull up, get out of the car, clamber up the stairs and find myself home again. I have things to do-- plenty. First things first: business has been moving rather slow at the office so I'd better get a crack on finding the bastard responsible for Wallace's handicap-- nothing to do yet on this latest Hearst event-- maybe I should've rethought transferring to somewhere out-of-state-- I need the names of the victims first before I try to do anything productive; that could take the coroners a month depending on if any witnesses pop up-- people who know who was there/what they were doing, that is.

I get out my cell and dial a number I jotted down the night; if there's one good thing about Veronica Mars, it's that she's smart-- Veronica Mars has her connections and those connections have as of last week, gone global. I don a previous unused accent (Southern African-- I've got to play the part); he answers on the fourth ring, "Hello, this is Nish Sweeney and I was hoping you could help me."

Who said all my aliases needed to be original-- you need to work with what you have sometimes-- and besides, nobody's perfect.

---

**Max's **

She aims the remote and promptly changes the channel; nothing much is on-- a _Friends _rerun and some ignorant PBS show her little brother stopped watching when he was four.

She sighs; maybe she expected something… _more _out of this relationship-- his snoring depresses the hell out of her-- this _apartment _depresses the hell out of her; Max moved in the day after he was officially kicked out of Hearst-- he'd asked her to move in but she'd declined; now she lives in-between home and here; she gets home late, leaves for school; a vicious cycle that, a mere two days in, is already leaving her with a feeling of drowsiness and irritability.

She waits around for him for what seems like hours each and every day; he's taken to sleeping in till seven or eight at night-- going to bed at noon. Their time together is fleeting and every now and then it's enough to make her want to scream.

Max has changed her in some way; whether it's for the better or the good, she doesn't know.

---

**Logan's**

He stares at the television not believing what Sheriff Mars-- Veronica's father is saying-- a bomb at Hearst? It's too-- unworldly-- _surreal; _he can't describe it. He's relieved he missed witnessing it firsthand-- something like that would disrupt his sleeping pattern all the more. At least he doesn't have to worry; Dick is safe and sound in bed as he opted to sleep in as opposed to accompanying Logan to school.

"How many bodies were recovered from the house, Sheriff Mars?" a reporter asks-- Logan recognizes the stooge as one of the bitches who'd harassed him after Lilly's death-- and after Lynn's the following year.

"We've found fourteen in total-- but there may be more. We're resuming out search tomorrow."

"Have any of the victims been ID'd?"

"That could take up to a month."

"Has Dean Murray commented further on the decision to shut down the campus until the winter session begins?"

Logan turns off the TV and heads to the bathroom to shower.

---

**The Sheriff Department**

"Any calls, Inga?" Keith heads into the Sheriff Department; almost wishing that he could shut the day's events out for good. Shortly before the press conference was held, he'd seen the bodies. Fourteen bodies-- all of them charred beyond recognition; he'd thought-- and hoped not to see a crime scene worse than that of Lilly Kane's.

"Just one. From Veronica-- she asked if you wanted chicken or shrimp egg rolls."

"If I know my Veronica, she went with chicken."

"She expected you to say that and--"

"Sheriff Mars, the coroner's ID'd a victim."

Keith stares at Leo in disbelief, "This soon? How?"

"An ID bracelet if you'll believe it--"

"And Veronica told me in the second grade those were 'un-cool.' Specifics?"

"One Thomas Greenfield. Sophomore, aged nineteen. His family was out-of-town."

"You've had them contacted them, then?"

Leo nods.

"Inga, I'll be in my office-- take my calls."

He heads off with the paperwork Leo's handed him; he closes the door behind him, slides into his chair and mourns with Tom's parents over the loss of their son.

---

I absentmindedly flip through the channels not really seeing or hearing anything; the warm colors and pleasant glow of the television fill my void. Backup sniffs me eagerly looking for a handout; I successfully polished off more than half the Chinese delivery playing the waiting game; stir-fry, egg rolls, fried rice, beef and broccoli-- I've ruined my sodium intake for a month at least-- I wasn't even too hungry after the first couple of egg rolls and stir-fry I scarfed down; playing the waiting game is a dangerous thing for the figure. The rest of the food is calmly waiting for Dad in the refrigerator.

It's nearing midnight and Dad still isn't home; it's expected given the unpleasant circumstances of the day. Today has _not _been a productive day; who knows? Maybe I got my hopes us thinking it'd be a cinch to solve the mystery concerning Wallace and the travesty that went down Washington without a hitch-- a month later, throw in _another _thing-- it's enough to drive anyone insane. Take Wallace for instance; any clues found-- that's thousands of miles away-- could be picked up by just about _any_one-- and maybe clues concerning this case being found is wishful thinking.

The call I made today proved to be a bust; the guy I reached informed me there'd been no similar incidents since the one that took Wallace's hand-- it's either my extreme distrust towards others-- or wishful thinking once again that's led me to believe there's that slight possibility that lies are being told--

---

**Mac's House**

She unlocks the door, shuts it and locks it again; it's three in the morning and the silent is dark and silent-- as always.

"Home sweet home," she mutters sarcastically cracking a smile in spite of herself.

She's halfway to her room when she hears it.

"Cindy?" she turns; a light flickers on-- her mother's standing in the entryway; she's wearing a nightgown and her face is slightly damp.

"Mom, what are you doing up?" she asks.

"Honey, I've been worried _sick _about you," before she can disappear into her room, her mother's practically choking her in a tight embrace.

"What is this?" Mac asks trying to mask her annoyance with indifference.

Her mother pulls away, "You haven't heard?"

Mac stares more intently at her mother.

"There was a bomb at Hearst-- one of the fraternities--"

"I _know, _Mom," she surprises herself by how easily she can snap now.

"If you knew, you could've at least called," her mother's angry now; Mac frowns.

"Well, if you knew me, you'd know that I don't hang around fraternities. Good night," and she heads up the stairs, into her room, shuts the door and locks it.

She lies in bed; what was _that?_

---

I hear keys jingling from outside the door; Backup stirs as he's been waiting patiently in front of it since around two; I check the clock. It's already five in the morning-- surprising how quickly the night went by.

Backup jumps up excitedly on Dad, "What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep-- not with all this going on… You hungry? There's some Chinese in the fridge."

"Inga told me. Thanks but no thanks-- it's six in the morning-- I was thinking something more along the lines of pancakes. Want any?"

"No… I'm still full from dinner… I'd better get to bed; no school today-- no school for _months."_

I stand from the couch, flip off the TV and stretch, "G'night."

"Honey?"

I turn, "Yeah?"

"Did you happen to know a Thomas-- Tom Greenfield?"

I shake my head, "No. Why?"

"He's the first identified."

"It's horrible."

"I know."

Feeling slightly awkward, I rush over and give Dad a tight hug, "It's okay," he whispers reassuringly.

"It's going to be," I whisper, pulling away.

"Goodnight, Veronica."

"Goodnight."

Every now and then when you're hurled into the middle of something extremely chaotic, the only sure thing is the notion that a parent's love can save you for the time being; giving you the strength to move on; I've got a full plate in front of me but I've done the impossible before. And whatever the case, I _will _solve these problems and I _will _find and hold those responsible for their wrongs.


	3. Only the Loadie

**Chapter Three: Only the Loadie**

A week has passed since the Hearst bomb; a week of sitting at home, no school, and countless boxes of pizza take-out-- basically, a week of _nothing._

All residents of Neptune California have been reduced to the likes of this-- sitting at home, glued to the local news-- waiting for more bodies to be ID'd in an insatiable hunger to know any and _every_thing concerning what had recently been labeled as "California's greatest tragedy" in a brief statement made by our governor. So far, four other names have joined that of Tom Greenfield; David Friedman, Robert Wilson, John Mann and Matthew Young (who had joined their ranks this very morning). All fraternity members; all between the ages of eighteen and twenty. And thanks to a few interviews with various students at Hearst, an intriguing fact had been added to further fuel the flame; this particular frat had been rushing at the time of its demise.

One lucky frat member-- Rob Lane-- "groceries" at the time (most likely condoms and booze) supplied evidence that this claim was indeed correct; a list of twelve names of guys they'd been rushing at the time; these names are all currently being withheld from the public in order to avoid mass hysteria-- although a recent news report had one Angela Leslie claiming that an "inside source" had confirmed the suspicion that seven of the names on this list matched recently filed missing persons' reports. Only time would tell if this intrepid girl reporter's "hunch" was indeed correct.

As you can imagine, business has been _lousy-- _nonexistent in fact. Maybe it's selfish of me to even be complaining about such trivial matters, but without schoolwork to occupy my time coupled with lack of cases to solve, I am simply going out of my _mind._ There's nothing to _do._

The phone rings; I immediately snap out of my stupor, snatch it off the table and answer, "Hello?"

"Hey, is this Veronica?"

"Indeed it is. How may I be of service?"

"I'm in a bit of a fix-- my nephew told me you could help me out; this is Angel Navarro-- Weevil's uncle. We met a few years back-- you were trying to find a piñata full of steroids in a stolen car-- anyway, I tried the office and no one answered but that cute little message told me to try here."

Thank God I took Dad's advice and left my home and cell number in that recorded message at the office.

"I'm glad you did."

Did I mention how grateful I am for recording that message?

"So, if you're free, I'd like for you to come down to my office and we can--"

"I'll be there in ten minutes," I hang up in the phone and jump off of the couch for the first time in three hours; Backup stares up at me quizzically, "Backup, m'boy," getting work makes me all a thither, "We've got a case!"

He barks excitedly and jumps up on me; I guess dogs suffer from boredom too.

---

**Wallace's**

He heaves out of bed, realizing in the process that it's already four in the afternoon. He groans, looking at himself in the mirror; his mom's been a wreck since the Hearst bomb: _"It could've been you, Wallace-- it could've been you," _and he was _sure _that he'd seen the worst following his discharge from the hospital: _"Honey, are you all right…? Do you need anything? Honey, are you _sure _you want me to take Darrel to practice?"_

The way she's acting, it's as if he's made of glass-- all he lost in Darfur was a goddamn hand-- not his mind-- not his ability to live. The way she's acting, it's as if his mortality is some ticking time bomb liable to cease at the drop of a hat. He hates her for this-- resents her, almost. He stares at the spot his right hand and nearly wretches at the site of it-- of course he's bitter. Who wouldn't be? But, here he is, with a goddamn smile on his face as he walks out of his room and takes a long cleansing shower; he doesn't forget the bitterness-- despite the smile. How can he? It's impossible; everything that went down in Darfur-- and its aftermath consumes him-- from the inside out-- but to show this to others-- to show everyone he isn't the same Wallace Fennell that left on that goddamn plane three months ago is to give in; to wipe that goddamn smile off his goddamn face is like giving the sick bastard who ruined his life the ultimate satisfaction.

---

**Keith's Office**

He sits in the chair in front of his desk, pulls out a pad of paper to jot down anything that comes to mind, and pulls out a sharpened pencil from the cup labeled "#1 Dad" Veronica jokingly mailed him a week before she returned from Washington. He shoves the pencil into his mouth and begins chewing-- a nervous habit he's recently picked up in lieu of this recent tragedy.

A week has passed since the bomb-- a _week-- _and it feels like so much longer. From seven to four every day this past week, he's been supervising the excavation of what remains of the fraternity building. No more bodies have been found-- thank God-- but, on the other hand, a significant clue hasn't been found to boot. What they _have _found is small-- miniscule-- unimportant; empty beer bottles filled to the brim with cigarette butts, charred articles of clothing, text books, term papers from the previous year-- and a couple condom wrappers. Nothing significant-- nothing helpful to the investigation.

It's enough to drive any sane man crazy; he bows his head over the pad of paper in shame; he should be doing something-- making a difference; a week into the investigation and not one single suspect; nothing to by save for six ID'd victims. Keith Mars bows his head ashamed; almost wishing he _hadn't _snapped those incriminating shots of Vinnie Van Lowe.

---

I pull up to Angel Navarro's office-- if you can call it that-- get out of the car and slam the door shut. I knock on the door and hear a voice, "Come in."

I open the office-door and step inside, "Mr. Navarro, V Mars PI," I take a seat in front of his desk after he gestures for me to do so; he takes a long drag from his cigarette-- I notice with some disdain that it's unmistakably marijuana. Oh, well; to each his own.

"Care for a drag?" he asks noticing my eyes are glued to the thing.

"No-- thank you; _Reefer Madness _rule."

"Huh?"

Damn these people who are unfamiliar with the so-bad-they're-good flicks of the thirties.

"I've got a case for you."

"I'm all ears."

"Seems somebody's been stealing hubcaps off me."

Stealing previously-nicked hubcaps; novel idea.

"Do you have any ideas who the thief is?"

"I'm pretty sure it's someone who's working for me," he puts the joint out in an ashtray, "I can give you a list."

He pulls out the aforementioned list and hands it to me; three names. This should be easy.

"I'll get right on it tomorrow morning," I get out of my chair, "Pleasure."

He nods and I high-tail it out of that room before the stench can escape with me.

---

**Mac's**

It's nearing seven and she needs to get out of the house before her head explodes; her mother's been popping into her bedroom every couple of hours since she came home yesterday, saying "Cindy, why can't we just talk for a bit? We could go out for lunch, Cindy-- would you like that?" the way her mother was acting, it was as if she was a little girl.

Mac had stifled the need to simply begin screaming at her mother.

Mac shuts off her computer and fishes the key to Max's apartment from out of her jeans; she needs Max for whatever reason women need men in times of stress-- Max's annoying qualities _pale _in comparison to her mother's.

She checks her hair more out of tradition than need; Max rarely notices her appearance; all he's interested in nowadays is something along the lines of a quickie before committing himself to "work." He comforts her in some ways in doing so-- he doesn't really need her anymore; nor does she need him…

She rushes out of her bedroom and out of the house without even saying goodbye to her mom-- what the hell is wrong with her?

---

I park my car quietly outside a dumpy-looking house and taser in hand, get out; and a few seconds later, after having easily scaled a fence find myself in a weed-infested backyard. Carefully grasping Mr. Sparky in my left hand, I pull out a flashlight to get a better look at things; a tire-swing (they're obviously kids here), a couple empty beer bottles-- no hubcaps. I turn around.

"Hey!"

Great. I shut off the flashlight.

The sliding-glass door that leads into the house opens quick as hell; a woman's voice-- she's angry as hell; the blast of a gun-- the bullet misses me by an inch. Anyone willing to shoot a gun off at midnight means business; I scale the fence once again, jump into my car and zoom off into the distance before any more disaster can ensue.

---

"How do you manage to rope me into these things?"

"My good looks? I dunno-- last night's routine search proved to be a disaster-- so I need reinforcements. Now, remember: you're Weevil and I'm your girlfriend, Lianne."

"Sure thing, V," he rings the doorbell.

The door opens a few seconds later to reveal a slightly stocky balding man holding a can of beer even though it's only two in the afternoon, "Eli!" he exclaims, clapping Weevil on the back, "Who's the blonde?" he asks, somewhat suspiciously.

"This is Lianne," he wraps his arms around me, "my new girlfriend."

"You dumped that Carol girl?"

"Yeah."

Without further ado, we're ushered inside, "Is it okay if I used the restroom?" I ask with my most annoying blonde voice.

"Sure, Lianne," the guy says, "it's down the hall-- to the left."

As Weevil and him disappear into the kitchen, I retreat down the hall as advised and make a quick look into all the rooms; no hubcaps to be found. Hoping this one doesn't carry a firearm, I slide the door to the backyard open as quietly as possible and head out; I look for near five minutes-- no hubcaps.

I head back into the house, tell my "boyfriend" that my kid sister threw up on the monkey bars, and we get out of the house before we're suspected.

---

"It doesn't make any sense, does it?" I ask Wallace from across the table after we've given the waitress our orders.

He shrugs his shoulders and takes a long drink from his glass of Sprite.

"Damn it-- and I wasted that whole 'Weevil's girlfriend' bit on it-- I've been saving that one since Junior year of high-school."

He laughs… and an immense guilt suddenly develops in the pit of my stomach as I remember for the first time that evening that Wallace's case still remains unsolved-- and all because of me; my face reddens and I take a drink of Diet Coke.

"So, you checked out all the guys' houses--searched thoroughly-- almost got shot-- and found _nothing?"_

I nod.

"Do any of these guys own garages-- they might be smart enough to know it's stupid to leave stolen hubcaps lying around their backyards."

"Crap. You're right-- I guess the week's lack of cases wrecked my intuition. I'm just _thrilled _we decided to take our relationship to the next level by going out on this little date."

He smirks; I smile.

---

After double-checking, I learned that two of the three guys owned storage units. And you'll never believe my luck: the _first _guy (whose wife tried to kill me) ended up having the hubcaps tucked away in his. And, let me tell you, it was quite difficult convincing the guy who works there that my father had locked my mother's birthday present away in the storage unit and had lost the key. It seems he nicked the hubcaps in order to help pay for his wife's long-desired nose job.

I made four hundred dollars off the case (though Mr. Navarro initially offered to pay me in hash).

---

**Keith's Office**

A knock at the door; Keith looks up from the paperwork he's filling out, "Yeah?" he calls.

The door opens; Leo comes in, "Keith?"

"Yeah?"

"They've ID'd another victim: out-of-towner. From Oregon," Leo hands Keith the newest pile of paperwork; Keith stares at the name, "Damn it," he whispers.

---

I scratch Backup behind the ears, sit on the couch and pop in a DVD; four hundred dollars richer and out of my rut, I feel way better than I have in a week.

The phone rings; Dad.

"Yeah?"

"Honey, have you been watching the news?"

"No. Why?"

"They just ID'd another victim. Honey, I'm sorry but someone you know died in there."


	4. Love & Death

**Chapter Four: Love & Death**

The sobbing, the creepy atmosphere of a church when you have no strong belief in God, the overwhelming sense of unhappiness.

I hate funerals.

I mean, I'm twenty years old and I've buried more friends than senile great aunts-- where's the logic in that? Don't they say the life expectancy is around seventy-four years for a healthy male? _Not _nineteen; it's mind-boggling and disturbing as hell. It makes you want to write to those damn scientists and point out that they need to do some recalculations.

You feel this great wave of emotions at a funeral-- depression, pity, _guilt-- _it's the latter that eats you up the most. I'm feeling a lot of guilt right now; knowing that someone who had hopes and dreams _just like you _before meeting an unplanned an untimely demise really tears you apart. I felt a lot like this when Lilly Kane died; a lot of that guilt is what drove me to ultimately find and destroy her killer. I hope that I can do the same.

I mean, sitting here, dressed all in black, it's still so difficult to believe that he's gone-- and how a simple phone call managed to wreck everything...

---

After Dad had finished delivering the blow, he hung up and promised to be home in about fifteen minutes; apologizing for telling me over the phone.

I was devastated; the phone was hurled to floor due to my anger and grief, and I joined it soon after; sobbing like I was a kid again.

When Dad got home, I jumped up and threw myself into his arms, my shoulders heaving.

After that, I stayed in bed for a week; getting up every day or so to take a shower, feed Backup, eat some take-out Dad had left me in the refrigerator. I was sulking-- but, hell, who wouldn't given the circumstances?

On the third day, the unexpected occurred; I got a call. From Logan.

I stared in disbelief at the name on the Caller-ID; after all, despite one ambiguous look we'd shared the last time we met, we still, to my knowledge, were on shaky ground; I mean, he _had _beaten my boyfriend to a bloody pulp due to a rash reaction to a false accusation.

"Logan?" I asked casually, picking up the phone.

"Hey, Veronica," he whispered; he sounded shaken.

"I heard... on the news... I'm sorry-- I know you two were--"

"We weren't dating or anything," I suddenly snapped surprised at myself, "I mean, of course I'm..." I drifted off, unsure how to finish the statement. I mean, it was simple; I was grief-stricken-- angry at the bastard who had blown up the fraternity-- but at that moment, it was almost too hard to think what with actually _talking _to Logan for the first time in over three months.

"Is that Veronica?" a voice suddenly screeched in the background; Dick-- he was drunk-- as always.

Logan ignored his roommate, "Listen, I'm sorry about what you're going through, but--"

"Look, I know, Logan. But, I want-- I need to be alone for now. It's too..."

I drifted off.

"Understood. See you around," and he hung up, leaving me to wonder...

---

"Stosh Piznarski was a well-rounded youth and has left behind many friends on this earth. After completing his Freshman year at Hearst University in Southern California, he attended an internship to broaden his music career," I hate these the most about funerals-- hearing about peoples' broken dreams; I cast a glance over at Mr. and Mrs. Piznarski; they're crying, obviously. My eyes burn with tears at this site alone; having been unmoved by the long casket which remains closed to prevent the horror of seeing his unidentifiable body. A picture of Piz, smiling and holding a guitar has been placed upon the casket to make up for this. I grimace at the site of it; it brings back so many memories-- once lively and bright, now tainted for good.

Wallace squeezes my hand gently; he, Mac, and I made the trek up to Oregon alternating with me and Mac behind the wheel in two days. Mac hadn't known him as well as Wallace and me, but had nonetheless decided to come along for the trip. It's funny and kind of sick; we're the only Hearst students here-- it seems as though any surviving members from the fraternity that had been rushing him would have decided to show. They chose not to, which is kind of odd, if you ask me. Piz _must've _known one of them on a rather personal level. I mean, putting aside the fact that it makes _no sense whatsoever _that Piz would've up and decided to join a cultish gathering, the fact that no one came is rather distressing. Who are these frat members and what are they trying to hide...?

---  
**  
Logan's**

"Aren't you a little under dressed?"Dick asks exasperatedly, pointing at his roommate's clothes.

"Since when did you care so much about appearances?" Logan asks, remembering the numerous occasions upon which Dick had thought it appropriate to show up to a sorority party shirtless and wearing a Tye. He looks down at himself; a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt. Not so bad in the scheme of things-- considering he doesn't give a crap about tonight.

"Suit yourself, but Joan doesn't--"

_"'Joan?'" _Logan repeats, "As in _Crawford?!" _

Dick stares at him, "Who?"

Logan shakes his head; a double date. And a _blind _one for him; he'll try less to be miserable as long as Joan doesn't look like a dude...

---

The funeral ends; we file outside into the cool fall air as the casket is carted off to be buried. A reception is to be held at the Piznarskis'.

Mac, Wallace and I get into the car. I insert the key into the ignition and do nothing else, "Well?" Wallace demands, kindly.

"We wait," I reply.

"For...?"

"The burial to end-- I don't think it's considered Orthodox to arrive fashionably early for a gathering such as this."

---

About a half hour later, the cars begin to head onto the highway; we follow them, "Veronica, were we even invited to this thing?" Mac asks after a long and rather awkward silence.

"Not exactly, but I don't think they generally look down on more people coming. Besides, we're out-of-towners. I was Piz's girlfriend... at one point. You were his roommate and you were an acquaintance. They'll love us."

Mac and Wallace exchange dark looks, "Veronica," Mac begins, "What exactly are you trying to prove here?"

"Call me determined."

---

**The restaurant**

Jen and Joan excuse themselves to the bathroom, "Wondering why girls always go to the bathroom together, because one time--"

"Not exactly," Logan replies slightly fuming.

"Look, she's not much to look at-- but she's nice. She just lost her teeth in a roofing accident."

_'Roofing accident?' _Logan repeats in his head, wondering if this night can get any worse.

---

Dick puts away his seventh beer in a single go as Joan rambles on about where she got her new shoes.

_Shoes, _Logan thinks, _She looks like a horse's ass and she's worried about shoes... Perfect..._

"Another round for the Casablancas table!" Dick calls and Logan is thankful that Dick's name still has enough of a pull to get them illegal drinks.

Logan drinks his fourth beer, his fifth beer, his sixth-- he's still not sober and Joan is now going into much detail about her childhood in Tennessee and how much she loved his father before he went "crazy." Logan finishes off his beer trying to remember if he said more than hello to the ghastly girl.

Can _this night get any worse? _he wonders again for the hundredth time.

"Logan Echolls," a voice calls.

Logan turns. Weevil.

Yep, it just got a hell of a lot worse.

---

"Mr. and Mrs. Piznarski," we're from Stosh's school. We're so sorry."

"He wasn't even supposed to go there," she sobs, "he was all set to go to the University of Oregon and cancelled at the last minute-- if I had only pressed him," she dissolves into a fit of wild emotions at the memories of her son and what could've been-- that tonight could have been like any other.

We head inside unsure if we should stay to comfort her.

I shake my head at the news about Piz's former college arrangements. It's strange, "Okay, you two stay in here and mingle-- I'm going to head upstairs for a look around."

"Veronica, are you crazy?" Wallace and Mac demand in unison.

"Well, it's great knowing how supportive you two are of me-- if you don't mind," I turn my backs to them.

"Veronica," Wallace demands, my foot on the stair.

"Don't--" Mac calls as I head up.

They'll understand in the end.

---  
**  
The Sheriff Station**

Keith stares around him in disbelief; Leo just handed him the name of the last victim. That brings the grand total to fourteen; fourteen bodies ID'd and either buried or in the process of being buried.

He sips a hot cup of coffee and it warms him-- a little. He's surprised at how quickly things went south; it's almost as if he bit off more than he could chew. There's so much work to do; paperwork, more paperwork, press conferences-- and even though all the bodies have been ID'd the remains of the building are still being scoured and sifted to find something more.

For now, finding more is a pipe-dream.

---

**The restaurant**

"You do seem to go through a lot of them fast," Weevil says, gesturing towards Logan's date.

Logan rolls his eyes.

"Who is that, baby?" Weevil's date asks.

"That's Logan Echolls, Carol-- you know-- his dad's the one who killed Lilly Kane."

"Shut up, Weevil."

"Why? Am I telling something untrue?"

Logan rolls his eyes once again as Dick notices Weevil and Carol; Dick is plastered as hell, "Hey, you two wanna join our table."

"My pleasure," Weevil replies and Logan sinks deeper still into his chair.

---

I enter Piz's room on the second try; I really don't know what I'm trying to prove.

I look around; a lone guitar stands in a corner never to be played again. The site of it fills my eyes with tears once again. I pull out a drawer; tee-shirts he'd outgrown, a couple pairs of pants... what's this...? Letters from some Becky? Okay, I know it's wrong and illegal as hell, but it's a huge stack of letters and it might help me to understand who Piz _really _was in life.

I head back downstairs after a quick look-over of the room proves fruitless; Mac and Wallace are waiting at the foot of the stairs for me, "Okay, let's boogie," and we head out into the crisp cool night air without a second glance back.

---  
**  
The restaurant**

Jen and Joan are gone; Jen dissolved into tears after being told by Dick she was "trampy," and Joan, in a haste, had scribbled down her number and thrown it at Logan-- and commenting how much they had connected that evening, followed her friend out the door.

The second her back was turned, Logan had tossed the scrap of paper into an empty beer bottle; it was nearing three in the morning-- he could only hope that the worst evening of his life would be drawing to a close.

Dick and Weevil were getting along swimmingly, while Carol sat in a corner occasionally meeting Logan's eyes across the table. Twelve beers in him, Logan was finally feeling a little better-- and drunk as hell; Weevil's snide comments were now bouncing off of him like rubber to glue.

Logan felt himself growing drowsy and hastily stumbled from the table to the men's room; the voices of his companions sounded faraway and distorted the second he stood up. Halfway there, he passed out.

---

Wallace's snores from the adjourning room tell me he's fast asleep. Mac's staring at a local news program on the TV tells me the opposite, "What's up?" I ask, "That forlorn look-- missing Max?"

She stares at me as I flick on the lamp, "No, the opposite. I think that's why I'm feeling like crap. I don't get it, Veronica-- it's like, I don't know him anymore and we're just... _sex buddies," _she finishes lamely.

"Ah, you've hit the nail on the head. Maybe you guys should talk."

"That's the trouble. There's no time. He's always too busy writing an essay or digging up the answers to some test."

"Well, if you want to break up--"

"I don't know what I want anymore."

---  
**  
Logan's**

His eyes open; he stretches. His head is throbbing like hell and he feels a slight lump. A glance at the clock informs him that it's already noon; he doesn't even remember how he got home-- and why isn't he wearing any clothes...? Movement beside him; what the hell? His heart drops as he realizes that he spent the night with Weevil's girlfriend.  
---

**The Sheriff Department**

Keith stares at the list of names and shakes his head.

A knock at the door; it opens to reveal Leo on the other side; he looks frazzled, "Keith, it's Liam Fitzpatrick-- he says he knows something about the bomb."


	5. Shadows of the Past

**Chapter Five: Shadows of the Past**

I pull out of the parking-space and ease out onto the highway; we're finally just setting off for home. Wallace had woken up about half an hour earlier and after packing our things, showering, dressing, and checking out, it was going on nine in the morning; I'd just left Dad a message to ensure him of our safety and the fact that we'd be home in a couple of days.

In less than two days, the intense pull of the bulge of letters in my pocket will have lost their hold; I'd lied and told Mac and Wallace the quick look-over of Piz's room had proved to be barren. Thank God, they believed me. I mean, I'm not a vindictive liar or anything-- I hate lying to the people I love, but what can you do? You lie to protect people; their feelings, egos, outlooks on life, any and every thing that comes to mind.

I stare at the sign: 240 miles to Washington State.

I look up in a daze at the word; any mention of Washington gets me to thinking of what happened in DC over the summer. Cool it, Veronica.

You'll get to the bottom of it somehow.

---

Slater's Lake; take a pleasant scenic route up through hills and spot as many fluffy bunnies as you can before spending an enjoyable day fishing, swimming, sun-bathing, etc. A cigar to whoever spots the bloated body bobbing in the water first.

Okay, so that's _not _how the Tour Guide reads, but you get my point, right? Wonderment and beauty functioning in tandem to cover up the sordidness and corruption; it's something I saw a lot of in Neptune.

So, I was no novice to finding these things by the time I arrived in Washington-- not that I found the body, mind you.

A lone hiker by the name of Hoyt Walberg had that pleasure.

---

**Logan's**

It's nearing noon by the time Carol wakes up; by the surprised look on her face, Logan guesses that she was also unaware until waking that they'd slept together, "Do you remember anything?" Logan asks wearily.

She shakes her head, "What happened to Weevil?"

"I don't know-- last thing I remember is getting up to go to the bathroom-- I think I passed out."

"Yeah-- yeah, you did," she sits up in bed, "Where's your roommate?"

"The other room," he nods his head, "fast asleep-- he hasn't been this drunk since Junior year at Neptune-- look, you've got to get out of here-- quick-- maybe, swing by Weevil's; make something up, y'know?"

She nods, "Would you mind?"

"Not at all," Logan replies realizing that she's woken up naked as well; in haste, he gathers up her things to save her the trouble (a top, skirt, bra, panties). He hands them to her, inclines his head to the empty bathroom and exits, hoping against all hope that Weevil won't show up any time soon.

---

Mac and I switch at around twelve-thirty to ensure neither of us loses energy. I sink into the passenger-seat once again and become lost in my own world…

---

"The victim is Denise Spellman, aged thirty-seven; legs were severed from the body prior to death, head severed after."

"So, she was tortured?" one intern asked somewhat boldly.

Agent Phillips nodded grimly

"Would you classify this as a 'crime of passion?'" the same intern asked

Agent Phillips promptly nodded once again, "It would seem that way-- which is why we've been conducting 'interviews,' if you will with relatives, close friends, etcetera."

I stared at the body in front of us; it was easily the most disturbing thing I'd ever seen in my life; it was so _Black Dahlia-esque, _it was frightening. Only there was blood-- and a lot of it by the look of the still-bloody stumps where here legs once were. It was the most unsettling thing any of the interns had seen in their lives as well; one ran out of the room and promptly vomited in the hall upon entering and returning, quite shakily, fifteen minutes later, did not cease crying. I can't say I blame her for that. Agent Phillips showed no emotion as he gave us the facts-- that's what you have to do in this business; you remain un-phased by everything you see, and when you get home-- _that's _when you let go and give in to emotion.

About fifteen minutes later, after extensive note-taking, and a review of the facts, we filed out of the frigid room; Chris caught up to me, "What a day."

"I know-- I don't know whether to thank Agent Phillips for pressing his supervisor to allow us that hands-on experience or him."

"Well, it _is _good practice-- for the future and all. It's just awful, isn't it?"

I nod and he departs; we'd learned all about Denise Spellman-- her career in law, her five kids (the eldest whose college-bound ambitions had been shattered by the unexpected death of his mother), and her perfect husband. Perfection can be so utterly fleeting these days; and instead of heading off for work, she was being shipped off to the morgue before a pleasant and quiet burial.

And speculation was rampant as everyone came up with their own theories on the identity of her slayer.

And it was then, that I made a vow-- more or less-- that I would somehow identify the killer before leaving Washington.

---

**Logan's**

She dresses quickly and he is thankful for this, "Well," she whispers, heading for the door he's holding open for her, "Last night was… _good," _she pauses and gives him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

"Stop, you'll make me blush," Logan replies sarcastically as she heads out the door.

Thankful it's over at last, he pauses in-between shutting the door and retreating back inside to watch how nice she looks from the back as she boards an elevator.

Dick saunters out of his bedroom and into the living-room as Logan flops down onto the couch, "Up at last, Sleeping Beauty?" Logan asks cheerfully tossing an empty beer bottle at him; it bounces off Dick's sandy blonde hair and thumps onto the ground.

"Dude, where's that Carla girl?"

"_Carol, _Dick-- you really must get better at learning names; it's a life skill, you know."

"Whatever, dude," Dick joins Logan on the couch, "I barely remember last night-- all I remember is, that Carol chick-- she's damn good in the sack."

He closes his eyes in memory of the night before; Logan's jaw drops open; he slept with a girl not even a day after Dick had his way with her. Goddamn it, he's never drinking again.

---

**Weevil's**

Three smart raps on the front door and Weevil lazily rolls out of bed to see what's going on.

"Hey, baby," he greets opening the door for Carol after he's headed out into the living-room.

"Hey," she kisses him gently on the lips.

He puts his arms around her waist but she gently pulls away, "You had fun last night?" she asks, flopping down on the waiting couch.

"Last night?" he rakes his memory, _"Last _night-- now, there's a night I can't say I recall."

She laughs and lights a cigarette, "You knew those guys in high-school?" she asks, leaning back as he joins her on the couch.

"Unfortunately-- that Dick guy's cool though, I guess… That Logan one's trouble."

"He's all right," she promptly puts out her cigarette having only smoked half.

He stares, "Baby, you--"

"I'm thinking about quitting again," she allows him to wrap his arms around her this time, "I know you don't like the smell of smoke," their lips meet, becoming one, and Weevil thanks God for what seems the millionth time for having her in his life.

---

In less than one day, we'll be home in Neptune.

Thank God for small favors.

Mac pulls onto the side of the road and comes to an abrupt halt, "I'm tired as hell," she explains, "Ready for the old switcheroo?"

"Any time, babe," I reply sarcastically and I take the key from her as I take my place at the driver's seat.

"We there yet?" Wallace mumbles sleepily from the back.

"Go back to sleep, Wallace-- it'll be a while."

"Can we stop at the next place we find…? Chili cheese fries…"

I roll my eyes playfully, "As you wish," we head back onto the road; Mac dozes off and Wallace remains alert-- complaining every now and then of his hunger.

My mind drifts off and I'm back in Washington in less than a minute.

---

Not a day after our encounter with the mutilated corpse of Denise Spellman, an arrest was made on behalf of evidence provided by Chris Huber. The culprit? One Hoyt Walberg; the unfortunate man who'd made the gruesome discovery-- it all fit. The evidence? Seems the bloodstained instrument used to remove Denise's limbs and head was found buried a few hundred feet away from the lake… with Hoyt's fingerprints all over it. After admitting the thing was his, he was immediately booked and of course everyone ignored his claims that he hadn't killed her.

Chris was immediately revered by the public and the FBI after having made the discovery as opposed to being scolded for going to the crime-scene without having told any of his supervisors; he was all over the news, shaking hands and being congratulated on bringing justice to the psychopath who had brutally destroyed an innocent woman's life. The FBI then hastened offering to pay his tuition for University and offered him a starting position as a rookie agent for fall 2009 as he was currently a Junior at UCSD. Chris obviously accepted and I congratulated him enthusiastically upon seeing him the following morning at our internship.

There went my vow; so what? The killer was safely behind bars set for a trial in December.

Suddenly, our supervisor called us to follow him into the conference room where Chris gave a lengthy speech about the day he discovered the identity of the killer.

He dove in to a quick bio on Hoyt Walberg's troubled childhood in Wichita, "… studied at the University of Kansas before moving to Washington where he became a well-respected family dentist whose…"

_Wait a minute, _I thought, looking up, _Dentist?_

I pictured Denise Spellman in my head and focused on the wounds; they were way to clean for an amateur to have performed. I knew that much from watching CSI and listening to Dad.

This only meant one thing; Chris was wrong.

The murder obviously had taken time and care; why would Hoyt have wasted his time on a woman whom he had never previously met? This crime was indeed a crime of passion as one clever intern had pointed out, and the killer had a background in surgery.

---

I pick out two Diet Cokes, a regular Coke for Wallace, a thing of chili-cheese fries, a huge chocolate chip muffin and a veggie-burger for Mac.

I haul the items over to the check-out counter and hand the cashier a twenty, "I don't get how you kids can eat like this at three in the morning," he mutters.

"Different strokes," I reply, taking the food over to the car and handing them out, "You lifesaver, you," Wallace beams, shoveling a fry into his mouth.

"Hey, don't spill those," I tease, handing Mac her veggie-burger as I take the seat beside her; she sniffs it carefully, "It's not poisoned," I venture.

"Just making sure," she laughs, taking a bite.

"You guys ready?" I ask, having unwrapped my muffin for the rode; they nod.

I ease onto the road and, taking a large bite out of the muffin, fall back into my memories once again.

---

With an odd and necessary combination of luck, ignorance and skill, I was able to sneak into the evidence room after hours the following week; flicking on a light-switch, my hands found themselves clutching all the evidence, interviews, etc, surrounding the Denise Spellman.

I stared down at the interviewees and took out a piece of paper scribbling down the following names; Jane Burrows (a neighbor) as well as Gregory and Amanda Maguire (a married couple-- and long-time friends of Denise) were doctors. Jane Burrows and Gregory Maguire were talented surgeons while Amanda worked the ER. Coincidence to my theory? I thought not, which was why I took my findings to Chris the following day.

To say the least, he was livid.

He had the audacity to say that he knew I was trying to sabotage his future career at the FBI. He wouldn't see to reason; after I'd explained the FBI wouldn't take away what they'd promised, he still saw reason to storm out of the room and threaten me bodily harm if I went to the police.

"Look, Chris," I'd called, rushing after him, _"You _can go to the police for all I care and give them the evidence-- what matters to me is that Denise's killer-- her _true _killer rots behind bars. If you want a career in this business, you should want that too."

"How arrogant are you, Veronica?" he demanded, and he spun around and smacked me smartly across the face, "The killer _is _behind bars-- you may've been right about that small-time crap back in Neptune but you're playing with the big boys now. You're not always right," he stormed off and I brought my face to the spot where he'd hit me.

_You psychopath, _I thought to myself, and had I not been informed of Wallace's near-death experience later that day, I would've gone to the police the following day.

---

"You made chili?" Dad asks sauntering into the kitchen.

"And salad," I reply nodding my head towards the fridge.

"Mmm, salad," Dad says, lifting the lid off of the pot of chili and taking in a deep breath.

"I even made snickerdoodles for dessert."

"What's with the whole nine yards on dinner?"

I shrug my shoulders, "I guess I got tired of take-out. How were things here in Neptune while I was gone?"

"Same ole', same ole'. Liam Fitzpatrick claimed he knew something about the fraternity bomb-- load of crap, obviously… I didn't take it seriously; he requested a 'private meeting--' I politely declined. Missed you."

"Missed you too," we embrace and I pull away after a few seconds, "You'd better wash up for dinner, Pop."

"Course," he heads off for the bathroom and it's then that I remember; the long drive home and dropping off Mac and Wallace had driven it from my mind. The letters.

I pull them out and flip through them; nothing much. Details of a sorority she'd been joining… she'd missed school because of a cold…

I stare at the words and the date neatly printed on the page, not believing my eyes.

Wait a minute.

Piz was _what?!_


	6. Tune Raider

**Chapter Six: Tune Raider**

Okay, so your deceased ex-boyfriend was engaged to be married to this Becky girl-- and during the time in which he was dating _you _was obviously still quite in love with her, her personality, IV League school, and to top it all off, the feelings were mutual.

Deal with it, Veronica.

There's nothing you can do about it; standing here, mouth agape, won't solve anything in the long run.

I hastily stuff the bundle of letters back into my pocket as Dad reappears in the kitchen, "You ready to eat?" he asks casually.

"Yeah," I busy myself with giving the steaming pot of chili one last stir as Dad sets the table.

"Want me to toss the salad?" he asks.

"No, you always overdress it," I reply casually; I head to the refrigerator for the bowl of greens and vegetables hiding my face so that he won't comment on my obvious troubled state.

"You okay?" he asks.

Our eyes lock for a split second but I avert mine before he can pick up anything I don't want him to know, "Yeah… Just tired-- the ride home was long and dull," I set the salad bowl down on the table and grab the tongs from out of the freezer.

"You really should reconsider being a chef," Dad calls as he takes a bite of warm chili.

"Maybe I should," I reply, lost in my own thoughts; and throughout dinner, I successfully hide the fact that I've lost my appetite due to my stomach knotting up due to stress.

---

_He enters the room through the open doorway, "Hey," he greets casually, taking a seat beside me on the bed._

_I inch away from him towards the wall, "Were you ever planning on telling me… about her…?" I ask in a vain attempt of masking my fury with casualty._

"_Like there weren't plenty of things you kept from me concerning your past."_

_I scoff, "That was different; what I kept from you wouldn't have compromised our relationship and broken us up even quicker."_

"_Well, were you ever planning on telling me that you were still hung up on Logan?"_

"_Logan? _Logan Echolls?! _What's your problem, Piz? I stopped having feelings the second he told me--"_

Beep, beep, beep.

"_What the hell was that?" he whispers, looking wildly about the room._

"_I don't have the time for your--"_

Beep, beep, beep.

---

My eyes snap open.

"Piz?" I call out, looking around me. The bed's empty; my shirt's sticking to my back with nervous perspiration. Such a vivid dream… I haven't had one like it since the bus crash; I honestly don't know what I'm feeling anymore. Anger…? Confusion…? Probably a bit of both-- and throw in some grief, hopelessness and guilt for good measure.

It's just so difficult now knowing the Stosh Piznarski I so lovingly called "Piz" during our rather brief courtship turned out to be a lie.

_Beep, beep, beep._

A red light is annoyingly flashing from my phone; that's what caused my premature waking. Damn these people who think I'm such a night-owl. Grabbing the phone from off of the nightstand, I flip it open. It's a voice message. From Max.

"This had better be good," I whisper to myself, bringing the phone up to my ear and pressing play: _"Veronica, this is Max. I dunno if you're up or not-- Mac said you might be. Anyway, someone stole my iPod today and it's pretty important I get it back. By Friday. Point is, I'm dead if I don't get it back. So, please, please, please call back. Later." _

I roll my eyes, flip the phone shut, and toss it onto the floor. Why can't I be woken at three in the morning for something good? A stolen iPod; how passé. I want the lead for the Maltese Falcon-- a stolen pair of ruby slippers from _The Wizard of Oz. _Where's the excitement?

I lay back and stare upwards into the ceiling, but sleep is evasive, and it's a one angry Veronica who storms out of her bedroom at six in the morning to brew a cup of coffee to get her going.

---

**The Sheriff Department**

"Did you get that message, Keith?" Leo asks casually from across the table in the conference room.

Keith nods, "Whoever it is, he's got a wild imagination. I'll tell you that; I've never been one to take those conspiracy theories with more than half a grain of salt. The kid's bored," he pours himself a tall mug of coffee and takes a long thoughtful sip. He pours a second and offers it to Leo, who takes it muttering thanks.

Leo rubs sleep out of his eyes and takes a long sip, "Need I ask when's the last time you got a good night's sleep?" Keith asks following the action.

"Who can sleep? Maybe Lamb; I mean, it's fourteen deaths-- all kids. No leads," he busies h

himself with emptying a sugar packet into the mug.

Keith nods.

"So, how's Veronica?" it's a question he hasn't asked in quite some time.

"Moody and secretive," Keith replies jokingly.

"How's she dealing with all of this?"

"She was hit pretty hard as you can imagine."

"That Stosh kid… were they serious?"

"They were broken up at the time, but friends nonetheless."

They stand up, headed for Hearst.

"Liam Fitzpatrick requested another 'interview.'"

"He's faking it. How could he possibly know anything?"

They head out the door and into the warm air, "Well, you'll have to agree to talk to him eventually… he's not going anywhere any time soon you know."

---

I knock three times on the door rather firmly. It's two in the afternoon, and I'm ready for a case-- albeit tediously boring, "Hey, Veronica," Mac greets opening the door.

I step over the threshold, "Where's Max?"

"Asleep… in the other room," she points.

"Max!" I call heading into the room, "Your knight-in-shining-armor's here," I pick a filthy-looking pillow from off of the cluttered floor and toss it at his head; his eyes snap open. I beam.

"I _was _asleep you know," he replies putting his glasses on.

"Shame. I guess I'm one who believes in returning a favor."

"Oh, sorry about that."

"Okay, so let's cut to the chase. Stolen iPod; where'd it happen, who were you with, yada yada yada. You get the point. Now, spill."

"Okay, so last night, Mac treated me to a dinner at the food court at Hearst and--"

"They didn't close it?"

"No, it's not like the sorority girls-- or remaining frat boys went anywhere. Shallow people need to eat too, you know."

"Oh, duh. Go on."

"So, we order our food, go to pick it up. I'd left my iPod on the table and the next minute it was gone."

"And how does this said iPod look?"

"Small, black. Brand-new."

"And why, pray tell, is it so important for you to get it back by Friday?"

"The thing is, Mac set it up so that I could store essays and test answers on it. Plug it into the computer, open up Microsoft Word, press print. Easy as pie."

"How covert ops of you…"

"So, I have around five hundred documents in there. Rent's due on Friday-- if I don't get it by then, thing is, I'm pretty much evicted as I have a few _current _needs on it."

"Okay, I'll get right on it. I might have to borrow Mac if you don't mind."

"Be my guest… And, Veronica?"

I turn, "Yeah?"

"Is there a slight possibility that there's a friends discount?"

"Hmm, let me think about that. No. However, seeing as you're my best friend's oh-so-adorable boyfriend, I _might _be able to knock off a buck or two. Toodles!"

I'll probably be needing that blonde sorority girl voice to get that iPod back… I sometimes regret dropping out of my first grade revue in which I played the Wispy Willow.

---

**Logan's**

Dick tosses the Hearst brochure at Logan, "You miss school?" he asks casually.

"I don't really care, Dick," Logan replies resisting the urge to roll his eyes, "Why?"

"I do."

"Let me guess; you miss the parties and the sorority girls."

"Got that right!"

"Your simple pleasures out of life are awe-inspiring," Logan chucks the brochure at Dick and laughs as it hits him square across the face; he holds up his hands in mock surprise, "Whoopsies."

"We gonna have to sign up for new schedules?" Dick asks eyeing a page in the open brochure.

"No. Dean Murray set it up so that all our classes will remain what we signed up for in fall; same classes, same teachers, same times. Why?"

"This art class sounds pretty cool… you reckon you get to draw naked girls all day?"

"You have _such _a one-track mind," and Logan resumes his flipping through the channels.

---

"Okay, so you're Candy and I'm Becka."

Mac rolls her eyes, _"Must _I be Candy?"

"You're right. Candy's more of a blonde name… I'll go with it, Becka."

We head through the open doors of the food court, "As this was the time you visited our prestigious food court yesterday, I'm banking on the fact that the same sorts of people will be here."

We head over to the counter, "Hey there, cutie," I coo, "I'm Candy and this is my BFF Becka. We'd like two salads and…"

"Two diet cokes," Mac cuts in right on cue, "hey, are those fat-free croutons?" she asks pointing, "Because I heard--"

"All right," the server cuts her off annoyed, "Cut the cutsie act, _you're _Veronica Mars and _you're _that Goth chick with the computer skills."

"I'm not Goth," Mac insists, dropping her sorority voice, annoyed.

"All right," I reply holding up my hands, "You got me. Can you help us out at least?"

"Let me guess; some lame case that would leave everyone better off if it went unsolved?"

"Did we go to high-school together?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I figured. Okay, so we're hot on the trail of a stolen iPod. Did you happen to see anyone suspicious or thuggish looking around here last night?"

"After Bugsy Malone came in and shot up the place, no one in particular. Sorority girls, for the most part-- _convincing _ones, at that, might I add. This is the twentieth century, Veronica Mars; they're not dieting to stay fit if you catch my drift," a freshman sorority girl stumbles slightly out of the bathroom, wiping her mouth.

"Ew," comes Mac's reply from beside me.

---

**Wallace's**

"Pass your brother the rolls," comes his mother's voice immediately after she spots his hand reaching for the plate.

He fights the urge to snap at her; it's like she has X-Ray vision now more than ever.

"Here you go, Wallace," Darrel whispers, handing him the plate.

"Thanks, little bro," Wallace replies, taking one and reaching for the butter tray.

"Darrel," his mother's voice again.

"Mom, I'm fine," he insists once again, "I'm not made of glass," he successfully grabs the dish and butters his roll, "See?" he asks, "I'm adjusting."

"I'm aware of that, Wallace, but you can't expect to just bounce back into-- never mind," she shuts her mouth at his reproachful look. He's glad for this.

An awkward silence fills the room following this; a few minutes later, his mother finally speaks again, "Wallace, honey, are you absolutely positive you want to go back to school in December? You could take a year off if you'd like. Adjust."

"Mom, I'm not going to not function just because of what happened over the summer. I _need _school; I need more that sitting around at home waiting for your next worrisome glance my way-- your next uneasy comment concerning my future. I'm not living here forever."

She forces a painful smile, "I know, it's just… I worry."

He rolls his eyes and doesn't reply the next time she calls his name from across the table.

---

It's Thursday night and my interviews with all food court attendees the past couple of nights have proved fruitless. Max is counting on me; I don't condone cheating-- but heck, at least he's making dough…

I sit up in bed.

Wait a minute.

It makes perfect sense.

Max has a rival.

And that rival is most certainly the smarmy bastard who works behind the counter at the food court.

---

I take an empty seat at the food court and spot the same bulimic freshman from a couple nights ago, "Hey!" I call taking a seat beside her.

She stares at me with venomous eyes, "You're that chick who dissed Hallie in front of half the school."

"Indeed I am. Look, I know we just met, but see that guy over there-- I need his phone number. Would you mind getting it for me?"

She scoffs, "And why should I?"

I take out a wad of cash, "How does twenty sound?" I hand the crisp bill to her and she pockets it.

"You're one odd chick," she waltzes over to the counter and begins flirting with the culprit. A few minutes later, she tosses the number at me and exits.

I pull out my Sidekick, hide behind a corner and dial his number, "Hey… is this Jim?"

"Yeah, why? What do you want?"

"I go to UCSD and a friend of yours at Hearst told me you might be able to hand me over a guaranteed A paper."

"Yeah, look, call back in a couple of hours when I'm off work. Get me the specifics and I'll get you that essay in a jiffy."

"Hmm, caught red-handed Jim," I say flipping the phone shut and showing myself, "Hand over Max's iPod."

"You're damn good."

---

"Here you go," I toss the iPod to Max; he catches it.

"Whoa, thanks. Who done it?"

"Seems you have a rival; the guy who works at the food court. Steer clear of him; he has an _extreme _grudge against you."

"Thanks for the sage advice; how much do I owe you? That's twice you saved my ass."

"I request no fee for my services. But here's the third time I saved your ass: Mac. She's a great girl. She's been through a lot and she needs someone to take care of her. Point is, she needs you. So, try to appreciate her more-- try to show her how much you love her. Girls like Mac are one in a million."

---

**Max's**

"What are you doing up?" she asks coming through the door, "It's four in the afternoon," she looks around her and finds that the apartment is spotless. She can actually _see the floor._

"I've decided to change my sleeping habits. I made us dinner; you like eggplant?"

She stares at him, as a smile spreads across her face; he returns it and their lips meet. For the first time since she can remember, she feels something from him. He loves her; what she's doubted for months is no more. She pulls away, "Yeah, of course… What put you up to all this?"

"A friend."

---

"_Do you understand what must be done now?" he asks._

_I nod, "Piz, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-- I overreacted." _

_His lips brush against my cheek, but it is a friendly kiss-- platonic. Our feelings for each other evaporated long ago-- I can't even truly say whether or not I ever loved him as more than a close friend._

"_Fourteen people died in that building. Fourteen _innocent _people. And you alone have the ability to bring that person to justice. You have so much going on, Veronica-- if you remain dogged and devoted, it'll happen for you. I guarantee that." _

"_I hope you're right," I reply thinking of Wallace and DC._

"_Do you have any clue who did this?" I ask casually._

"_Can't tell," he whispers, "However, I cant tell you one thing: the person who did this-- or persons-- they're damn evil-- they won't think twice about offing you in order to keep their secrets buried for good. Keep on you guard, Veronica Mars. Trust no one."_

"_Piz, did you--"_

Beep, beep, beep.

"_What the hell was that?" he asks calmly._

---

My eyes snap open. Piz is right; I can't go on harping about what happened in the past. He hurt me, yes, but I hurt him as well. If I let his killer go uncaught, it'll be like having stabbed him in the back.

_Beep, beep, beep._

Another voice message; if it's another stolen iPod, I might just scream. I snatch the phone from off the nightstand, hold it up to my ear and press play. A cryptic message immediately begins to play making reality my promise to Piz: _"Veronica, this is Brandon Beck. I'm a sophomore at Hearst-- I was in your Criminology class last year. Anyway, I know who blew up the fraternity; it was Lauren Murray-- the Dean; she did it to keep her daughter away from Rob Lane and to ensure she wouldn't lose her job."_


	7. Dean of the Dead

**Chapter Seven: Dean of the Dead**

It's Tuesday morning; the weatherman reported "bright sunny skies," and Neptune California is now in the midst of the one of the worst rainstorm I've ever seen in my life. Talk about the need to expect the unexpected.

Call me a girl scout or whatever but I always pack an umbrella in the trunk; it's an important habit my mother managed to teach me before losing her mind and disappearing from my life for good.

Now _that's _what I call the unexpected.

I hate the freeway days like these; so goddamn unpredictable. The next passing car could ram into your side and kill you. God, I hate this state sometimes. Despite the grim circumstances under which I found myself in Oregon, at _least _people were a hell of a lot better drivers than fifty percent of the people behind the wheel in Southern California.

Besides, my destination is too important to pass up on a whim; it _is _a lead, albeit a tad ludicrous and out-of-the-ordinary.

Dean Lauren Murray. A psychotic mass murderer borderline terrorist? Well, if there's one strike against her, it's that she's never had to worry about money her whole life; the Murrays are well-respected across the country. A filmmaker in Hollywood (supposedly the next Scorsese), a culinary artist in New York City, the nation's most sought-after lawyer after the death of Johnnie Cochran-- and this recent addition to the family's long list of the rich and famous: Lauren Murray. Former child prodigy, turned businesswoman, turned college professor, turned Dean. All in the matter of about two decades; and from what I've read about her daughter, Kimberly, she might as well be channeling her mother's soul; the apple did _not _fall far from the tree in this case although the father ended up being a drunk who abandoned Kimberly when she was four. Maybe this explains Lauren's contempt for men.

My heart's racing as I head off of the freeway; ten minutes later, I'm in the town's shopping center. He told me to meet him in the coffee shop; a quick scan of the area surprisingly finds no Starbucks. Just a simple, cozy-looking place by the name of The Bean. It's simple; catchy-- and I thought Java the Hut was the last small operating coffee business before it was bought out by Starbucks.

I park the car in an empty space, open the door and step outside into the rain; I open up my umbrella (as I'd left it earlier in the backseat), and head into the coffee shop definitely expecting the unexpected.

---

**Max's**

She stares at him lovingly for the first time in so long. She can't believe how quickly everything changed between them once again. She yawns, gets out of bed and stretches. He's finally devoting more time to her and focusing less and less on his 'little business' as he refers to it.

She picks up her phone from the nightstand and sees four voice messages waiting to be played; they're all from her mom. Mac bites her lip nervously, brings the phone to her ear and braces herself for the worst: _"Cindy, honey, it's Mom. I'm really worried about you-- your dad is too. Please come home soon."_

Mac deletes the messages without a second thought; the last time she was at the house-- God, how long ago was that?-- she'd cleared out most of her things, piled them into her car and driven off before anyone could bother to stop her.

She knows what she must do in the end, but it's too soon.

---

I take an empty seat and order a cappuccino and a bagel.

Halfway through my breakfast, a voice calls my name, "Veronica? Is that you?" the words are no more than a whisper. What's this clown playing at?

"Here," I reply following with a cute wave.

"Oh, hey," he takes the empty seat beside me, "Did I keep you waiting?"

"Not so much," I reply.

He's young; twenty or so, dark hair, wearing sunglasses. Uh, rookie mistake, "Would you mind?"

"Huh?"

"The shades."

"Oh," he whips them off, "Better?"

"Much."

An awkward silence falls between us; I break it, "Well, come on. I don't have all day."

"Okay, so Dean Murray."

I nod.

"Appointed in September by the job, heavily supported by Selma Hearst Rose."

"All right."

"Okay, so Dean Murray… she doesn't like the fraternities. Was all aboard for shutting them down last year during the rapes… So, she becomes Dean and guess what she's bent on doing?"

"Shutting down the fraternities?" I guess.

"Exactly. But, on this front, she _is _opposed. Heavily. Nine out of ten of the people who made her Dean, they like the idea of the fraternities-- even the women."

"So, how does blowing one up fit into this?"

"Do you make a habit of watching TV, Veronica?"

"Not lately."

"She was interviewed by Larry King last week. Told him she thought the seediness of what goes on in the frats led to its demise."

"Ooh, bitchy."

"And what really got her to do it. Her daughter, Kimberly starts _dating _Rob Lane; head of the frat. Kimberly starts acting out-- may not even be a virgin anymore. Dean Murray's pissed, so… Not to mention how pissed she was when she discovered Rob Lane had survived."

"Hold on, there's one slightly important thing missing. The bomb. Who manufactured it? Who'd she hire? You don't walk into Home Depot and purchase one."

"Think of it, Veronica. Why would she have to hire _any_one? The Murrays are geniuses; all she had to do was have one of her family members do it for her-- unless she did it herself, that is."

"I don't know, Brandon. I don't buy it."

"Come on, Veronica. Give it a chance; do some undercover work. Remember how crazy everyone thought your dad was when he didn't go with the mass wanting to crucify Abel Koontz for the death of Lilly Kane. Remember how crazy people _still _believed you and him were after you caught Aaron Echolls?"

"Someone's been doing some digging of their own," I sigh, "All right, I'll do some investigating," I stand and begin making my way to the door, "and next time I try to contact you, don't disappear for the better part of a week, all right?"

"I promise; scout's honor."

I turn.

"And Veronica?"

"Yeah?"

"When this thing goes public-- refer to me as your anonymous tipster."

"Sure thing."

---

After that, I really don't know _what_ to think; had I made a list of possible suspects, Dean Murray wouldn't have been on it. Call me old-fashioned, but isn't it _too _odd that Rob Lane miraculously survived the bomb by not being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Well, I suppose it's better to disprove these crackpot theories before they have the chance of getting out of hand.

---

**Logan's**

He breathes in the cool night air from the balcony and sits down, too wary to stand.

He's just gotten off the phone with Trina; she's dropping in for a "visit" after Christmas to shoot a project in San Diego; she refused to give any info away. Logan had wondered if it were a sequel to _Rise of the Anarchist _(a low-budget direct-to-video farce which Trina had had a "blast" shooting). He snickers.

Dick pokes his head out the door, "Dude, where's my bar?"

Logan rolls his eyes, "You drank it off last night… remember?"

"Oh, yeah," Dick cracks up like a jackass, "Look, I'm going out. There's been no action since that Carla girl."

"How sad for you."

"Uh, yeah," and Dick disappears.

Logan takes out a silver cigarette lighter and flicks it on; his mother's. He only carries it around for the hell of it-- to remember her.

Logan stares out at the world, feeling empty as hell.

---

I rap smartly upon the doors three times.

"Come in," a voice calls.

I open the door and enter.

It's the first time I've seen Dean Murray; blonde hair, green eyes. She sort of looks like a thirty-eight version of Mac's ex-roommate Parker Lee.

"I thought you'd be Ted," she reasons, looking back down at her paperwork.

"No, Veronica. Mars."

I approach the desk and hold out my hand; she shakes it after staring at it for a moment suspiciously, "Big fan of your work, Dean Murray. I was _thrilled _when you were appointed Dean."

"Were you?" she smiles smugly; ah, I've weaseled my way right into her arrogant heart.

"Oh, yes. And your Larry King interview last week? _Awe-inspiring."_

"Thank you. Cyrus told me you were intelligent."

"You knew Dean O'Dell?" I ask casually, looking around the room; she's had the walls re-papered. Hmm, Weevil's work. I can tell; roses and tulips. How vomit-inducing of her; newfangled curtains and shiny desk to match. New, spotless white carpet to match. So, _that's _where the money from the recent Hearst budget-cut went.

"Of course. We went to school together. Good man, such a pity…" she drifts off into silence, "Well, how may I help you, Veronica dear?"

"I recently started an online-- it's not a _blog… _Basically, I just rant and write and people write and reply. It's sort of like that Nish's free press. Anyway, I've been covering the fraternity bomb, and I was wondering if I could have a one-on-one interview with you as I've found we share similar views on the incident."

"Such a tragedy," she pauses for a dramatic (and quite faked) sigh, "hit quite close to home. My daughter's boyfriend just so happens to be in that particular fraternity-- not that you could call it a fraternity now-- and-- aren't you supposed to be writing all of this down?"

"Oh, yes, of course. Sorry," I pull out a pad of paper and begin scribbling down a jumbled summary of what she's told me thus far, "Proceed," I say politely after a beat.

"He was luckily at a local drugstore at the time of the… _disaster," _I look up; the word is so forced. Maybe that Brandon guy has something…

"Dean, Murray, is there anyone-- do you have any ideas…?"

She reddens and hastens to change the subject. Saved by the bell; a shadow appears outside the door. "Ah, Ted," a tall slightly balding man opens the door, "A representative of the mayor. Veronica was just on her way out," she says, in response to Ted's look of confusion towards me.

"Actually, Dean Murray, I--"

"Perhaps another time, Veronica. You know the way out."

I stand from my seat and exit.

What the hell was _that? _Why, in God's name was she so curt at the end? What's going on between her and Ted? Why'd he look so serious and why did she sound so unconvincing if she's innocent? Damn it, damn it, damn it.

---

**Max's**

"I've got to go," she says it simply, pulling away from him.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

"Why?"

"I think it's time I fixed something."

He stares at her confused.

"I'll explain later," she heads out the door and in less than ten minutes, she's fishing her house key out of her pocket, and slightly nervous, she inserts it into the keyhole, unlocks the door and steps inside.

---

The door opens to reveal a young woman who looks almost exactly like her mother; blonde hair, green eyes, "Kimberly Murray?" I ask.

She nods, "Hi, Sondra Pransky. I'm conducting an interview for the Hearst free press."

"Not interested."

"Please, I'm aware that your boyfriend--"

"_Ex-_boyfriend," she cuts in seethingly, beginning to shut the door.

"Wait, please. I was hoping you'd at _least _comment on your mother's negative attitudes towards the fraternities."

She opens the door wide again, "When my mother was at school, she was _raped _by a frat member. That's the reasons she hates fraternities-- you would too," and she slams the door in my face.

---

**The Sheriff Department**

"Sheriff Mars?" Inga pokes her head into the conference room, "It's Mayor Ferrer."

"Great," Keith whispers in an undertone to Leo.

Keith takes the phone from Inga, "Hello?" he asks into the receiver.

Leo watches from the conference room, "No," Keith's body goes tense as he's delivered the news, "But-- yes, I understand. Thank you," he hangs up.

"What was that about?" Leo asks.

---

My head is swimming as I make the drive home; so much happened today. I learned so much-- and so little. _Is _it possible that Mommie blew up a fraternity to protect her daughter from a snobbish, beer-guzzling, possible date rapist in order to escape the traumatic event that haunts her to this day?

Maybe. Just maybe.

I need to lie down.

---

"How was work?" I ask casually as Dad storms into the apartment, obviously steamed about something.

"Got a call. From Mayor Ferrer. It seems a petition was signed by all parents of the fraternity victims."

"And?"

"And we've been told to stay away from the fraternity. Told it was damaging the feelings of the survivors. And you'll never guess who started the thing."

"Who?" I ask, sitting up, suddenly interested.

"Dean Murray. Can you believe that? It'd seem she'd _want _the search to continue. I'm gonna go shower-- you want Italian?"

"Yeah, sure," he heads out of the room.

Interesting. A very intriguing turn of events. What, exactly, do you want to stay hidden Dean Murray?


	8. Date Crêpe

**Chapter Eight: Date ****Crêpe**

A month has passed since anything has happened with the fraternity case; the last forward step taken was thanks to Brandon's tip about Dean Murray-- although the unexpected call-off on the rubble search definitely managed to complicate matters. As you can imagine, Dad's taking it pretty hard. He never let on, but he _knew _that something important lay beneath the rubble. Thanks to Dean Murray, Mayor Ferrer, and pressured family members, the only hope that something would be found would come in April when a new building would be erected in its place; _that _is quite doubtful as the rubble will quickly be moved away and disposed of in a matter of seconds. Originally a proposed replacement frat house dedicated to the fourteen lives that had been lost on the site, Dean Murray fought tooth-and-nail to have that plan scrapped in favor of a new campus restaurant. Call her dedicated, I'll call her an arrogant, greedy bitch.

And the several occasions upon which I attempted to conduct a follow-up interview with Brandon proved fruitless; he's not answering his phone. So, for some odd reason, he's avoiding me which could falsify his claims. Who knows? Maybe he's some crazed '09er from high-school bent on sending me on a wild goose chase for breaking up his parents or something. Who knows? The thing is, his information was the _only _information I was basically handed on a silver platter for the fraternity case. I need something to go on. Just because Lauren Murray is a determined, money-grubbing sociopath doesn't necessarily make her a murderer, although it automatically makes her less likeable.

The first quarter is starting up again on November 22nd, so my former dream of finding the bastard responsible for blowing up the fraternity before then is pretty much impossible. Not to mention the fact that in order to graduate spring 2010 right on schedule, I've got to take classes next summer. Well, there go my plans of jetting off to Europe and having a long steamy rendezvous in gay ole' Paris that I'll be able to reminisce as I baby-sit the grandkids. Ah, how these dreams elude us. Jean-Claude, please forgive me.

However, things aren't going _all _that bad.

A quick Google search enlightened me of the fact that our illustrious friend in Darfur struck once again; another bomb. Another handicap-- if you can call death a handicap. It seems the bomb was planted outside the building again, one Stephanie Murney picked the thing up, it blew and she lost several limbs, ultimately expiring from excessive blood-loss. She was twenty-seven, had left home on a whim to save and rescue dying children from terrible fates. A life cut short, a family left to mourn the daughter they'd spurned for her slightly eccentric beliefs. Thank God the same thing didn't happen to Wallace. The article made no mention of a similar tragedy having taken place during the summer; does that mean a cover-up is taking place to hide the downside on traveling to fight a great cause-- have other explosions taken place between then and now? Maybe.

I'm hoping this new development in the case will lead to the answers I so crave. The identity of the bomb maker-- _killer_ is necessary to my life as is putting the _correct _killer behind bars in Washington, as well as the one… or ones responsible for the fraternity bomb.

Only then can I sleep in peace at night-- only then can I go through the day guilt-free, without that sense of worry gnawing at my insides until I feel I'm liable to explode.

The phone rings; I'm in the office finishing up some paperwork on a twenty-four-hour case from yesterday. A husband cheating on his wife with her sister. When will these people learn? I grab the phone, "V Mars, PI, Mars Investigations."

Hey, at least the sound of my being an official Private Investigator cheers me up.

"Hey, Frank Peterson. You helped out a friend of mine earlier this year… something about a monkey…? Anyway, here's the deal. I used to work at Ooh La Crêpe--"

"The one at the mall…? Love the berry sunrise."

"Yeah, anyway. Here's the thing. I sort of-- okay, so the day I quit was the day I was going to propose to my girlfirend, Sara. I had the ring and everything. _Really _valuable; been in my family for generations-- I think my great-great-grandmother had it first."

"Your point…?"

"Well, I quit after my final shift. I'd just got a new job as a paige for Douglas Applegate and I was planning on telling Sara and popping the question. So, the thing is, I dropped the ring into crêpe batter; I'm like a hundred percent sure. I need you to pull your investigating magic and see surveilance video, talk to people, etcetera."

"You are aware that it could be rather messy getting it back?"

"Yeah, I'm willing to go all out for it. Just hurry," he hangs up.

A rather intriguing case; perhaps it'll help me get my mind off Washington, the fraternity and Wallace.

---

**Wallace's **

It's nearing midnight and he can't sleep for the fourth night in a row.

He needs to get out of the house. And fast.

He gets out of bed quietly as to not wake Darrel; he's taken to sleeping in Wallace's room at night. Wallace can't say he minds-- it's kind of comforting having him there. It helps him not feel like crap for the time being. Darrel doesn't act differently around him; he still beats him at manopoly and chess and what-not. It's a good thing he didn't take after their mother in that respect. Otherwise, he'd be too scared to be alone in the same room as Wallace; thinking Wallace would keel over and die.

He pulls a jacket on over his pajamas and quietly and quickly slips out the window after having silently lifted the screen. He's never done this before; he snuck Jackie in once senior year-- if his mother had known, he might have lost his hand in quite a different way. Wallace cracks a smile despite himself and trudges up the street feeling oddly alive. God knows how long it's been since he's felt… _human. _

He continues his moonlit stroll until his watch informs him that an hour has passed and he turns and begins the long trek home.

---

I head through the doors of the mall and into the foodcourt. Ooh La Crêpe stands between an Orange Julius and a lemonade stand. The irony; and one lucky customer walked out, crêpe in hand, also carrying at least five grand. Maybe if the crêpe batter from that night is still in circulation…

"One strawberry dream."

What? A girl can't work on an empty stomach-- and besides, there's always that possibility, albeit slim, that _I _could be the lucky patron to walk out with an antique gold ring.

Nope. Just sugary crêpe batter, a sugary berry sauce and whipped cream. God, I love these things. I polish off my snack in record time and toss the remnants into a trash bin. Okay, then. So, this could be tricky. I need surveilance video. Alrighty then; who could say no to a blonde who's been victimized?

---

**Logan's **

A knock at the door; he lazily flips off the television and trudges over to the door; already knowing who it is, "Busy night? Godamn it, Dick, how many keys have I given-- oh," his face falls, "You."

She gives him a sly smile and enters the room without furter invitation, "I would've called. But Weevil might've--"

"What are you doing here, Carol?" he asks the question matter-of-factly, not wanting to come off as eager at seeing someone other than a drunk and/or ranting Dick.

"Left something here in the form of a handbag."

"Never saw it," he closes the door behind her.

"I might've kicked it under your bed when we-- would you mind?" she gestures hastily towards his bedroom and he shakes his head in reply, watching with slightly bated breath as she disappears inside.

She reappears a few seconds later, "Nope. Now, where-- oh," she heads into Dick's bedroom without asking to, "Found it," she swings the handbag over her shoulder, "Your roomate was the one who-- on the floor," she reddens slightly.

An awkward pause follows.

"Well, I'm off-- that is, unless you'd like…"

"Oh, no. Love to, but don't feel like risking it."

"You sure?"

He stares at her in disbelief, "I dunno-- maybe you shouldn't cheat on Weevil."

She sighs, "I love Eli-- but I'm not gonna give up my needs just for him," and Logan stares in shock as she exits the room.

Damn temptress.

---

The "interview" I conducted with the guy who works security proved to be a bust; the video from that night of the foodcourt showed no clue-- no hint that anyone had found something remotely valuable tucked away within their delightful desert item.

"You are aware that none of our products are fat-free, right?"

"Oh, no. I've had my fill. Look, I'm a PI and I--"

"A private investigator? _You?!" _

And without further ado, I show him my taser, "Well?"

"Oh-- uh-- okay."

"Anyway, stumbled across your former colleague, Frank Peterson and--"

_"That _douche bag? Gets some fancy job for Doug Applegate and immediately thinks working the crêpe line's beneath him," he promptly roles his eyes, _"and _he has the audacity to not invite me to his little wedding."

"Yeah, about that wedding… Did he happen to show you the ring?"

"Yeah, he did. Then he drops the bomb that he's qutting. Didn't even put in a week's notice or nothing. _That, _I could've understood…"

"You seem to really dislike this guy."

"Well, yeah."

"Did you happen to-- I dunno-- pocket the ring as sort of a last minute's revenge?"

"No. I'm not that kind of guy. _Frank's _that kind of guy. Why, he lose it?"

"Yep. He suspects he might've dropped it into the crêpe batter the night he quit."

"Jackass."

"Do you happen to use the batter right away, or…?"

"Here at Ooh La Crêpe, we pride ourselves on using the freshest ingredients and use the batter right after it's been mixed."

"So, there's no way? Because I checked out the surveilance footage and no one seemed to take a bite out of crêpe and break a tooth."

"Huh. Well, we _do _deliver."

"You guys deliver?"

"Yeah, boss's idea. Marty. Thing is, we've only got one steady customer."

"You don't say."

---

"You _don't _want to eat that, Corny."

I snatch the crêpe away from him before he can sink his teeth into them, "Whoa, Veronica, why are you here?"

That Corny; as stoned as the day we left Neptune High for good. Ah, God love the guy.

"Working a case," after a bit of digging through the delicious-looking pastry, I pull out a gold and diamond ring covered in apple goo and whipped cream, "Catch you later, Corny," I head out of the apartment building.

"Veronica, you are one crazy chick," he shuts the door.

Well, it figures that someone like Corny would be the sole expert on having food delivered from a place such as Ooh La Crêpe. Sometimes I worry about people I attended high-school with…

---

"Here you go," I toss the goo-covered ring to Frank.

"Oh-- you didn't clean it," he grudgingly wipes it on his coat.

"I would've had to charge extra," I reason.

"How much is this gonna cost me anyway?"

"And the plot thickens."

---

**The Sheriff Department **

"Are you still debating whether or not to talk to him?" Leo asks him.

Keith shrugs his shouders, "It's bull. You know that. I know that."

"Yeah, but Keith, what with Mayor Ferrer's decision… Maybe he _does _know something, however miniscule."

Keith stares off into the distance long and hard, "All right then. Let's go."

---

"Liam."

"Keith."

He slides into the seat across the table from him; "Cuffed. Again," he clinks his handcuffed hands onto the table for emphasis.

"I'm aware."

"And it's all thanks to you, Keith."

"It's freezing in here, isn't it, Keith?"

"You could say that-- and it's Sheriff Mars, if you don't mind following the usual formalities."

A pause.

"I expected you here sooner. Your predecessor--"

"Was arrogant and spineless," Keith interrupts slighty angry at Liam's attempts to rile him, "I'm only here to fully dismiss your claims, Liam. I won't have you expect otherwise. Now, if you don't mind… I promised Veronica to be home by four."

Liam stares into Keith's eyes coldly, "God, I hate it here."

"Can't say I blame you. Your point? The fraternity?"

"Look, Keith. This thing-- it's been planned for months. It goes pretty high up if you know what I mean."

"And? Do you have any _relevant _information? The name of a suspect perhaps? Fourteen kids died, Liam. _Fourteen; _and they definitely had more worth than you do."

Liam Fitzpatrick laughs cold and hard; sending chills up Keith's spine, "My trial's coming up, Keith. I gaurantee you, I'm getting off. So's Vinnie."

"I highly doubt that."

"Can you be one hundred perecent sure, Keith? As if California's legal system hasn't sent the wrong people home before. Look at OJ-- look at your old pal, Aaron Echolls, for God's sake."

"If you called me in here to intimidate me, I--"

"Let's put it this way, Keith. I'm getting out of here one way or another. And when I do, I'm going to make sure your daughter pays for my time. You remember that at her funeral."


	9. Lighter Shade of Pale

**Chapter Nine: Lighter Shade of Pale **

November 21st; the day before sophomore year starts-- or restarts, depending on the way you look at things. I can't say the hiatus concerning school was welcome on my part, but I'm nonetheless wary of my imminent return. Over two months have passed since an unknown person or persons planted a bomb deep within a Hearst fraternity; killing fourteen people in the aftermath of its explosion. Three months have gone by since an unknown person planted a bomb outside an Invisible Children building in Darfur, handicapping a bright American student the second it went off. And nearly four months have passed since the butchering of Denise Spellman.

So many things going on-- not enough time to solve them all what with returning to school and trying to manage the cases pouring in; I've had to turn a few likely customers away-- something I can't quite say I enjoy.

I need to act fast on the DC case-- I'd plan a trip out there to do some digging but it'll have to wait what with school beginning tomorrow Dad's strange behavior lately. It's difficult for him to let me out of the _house, _let alone a couple thousand miles away. Maybe this Hearst thing is making him worry about me. I can't say I know for sure. But the couple of weeks I have off for Christmas will allow me to make the necessary trip out there to provide evidence to get Hoyt Walberg off. Call it coincidence but his trial's beginning tomorrow as well. My jaw nearly dropped to the floor when I read that online the other day.

The room is freezing; maybe I should shut the air off but then again-- I pull the covers up over my head just as Dad pops his head in, "What're you doing cooped up inside on your last day of freedom?" he opens the blinds.

I groan, "Wish you wouldn't have done that… What are you doing home?"

"Earth to Mars. Today is Sunday-- God's day."

"What time is it?" I glance at the clock; it's already noon.

"You been sleeping this whole time?"

"No, just… thinking."

"Oh."

"Why? What's wrong?" I sit up, adopting the voice of a mother speaking to a child, "Does this have something to do with why you're calling five times a day now?"

"Can't a father love his daughter?"

"Ha, ha."

He shuts the door.

What's up with him anyway?

Add that to the growing list of questions that'll inevitably drive me to an early grave.

---

**Max's **

Mac dials Veronica's in a blur, "Hey," Veronica answers.

"Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to do something tonight?"

"You wanna go clubbing? I'm flattered-- don't you already have a boyfriend?"

"He's not here-- he left the other day to spend some time with his dad in Nevada. I was thinking about a movie."

"Well, it is a school night, but for you, I'll make an exception. See you," she hangs up and Mac shuts her phone.

A night on the town with Veronica will hopefully clear her mind; she's been in the midst of a slight nervous breakdown ever since having tried to patch things up with her mom and dad.

---

**The theatre **

"Hey there, gorgeous," Veronica greets hours later as they meet in front of the ticket-stand.

"Hey."

"Why so down?"

"Max," she lies.

"I see," Veronica pays for their tickets and they head into the theatre, "I hope this flick _is _uproariously funny," she notes, pointing to a large poster, "don't you?"

"Yeah," Mac replies, but she's lost in her own thoughts.

---

_"Cindy, is that you?" her mother asked, as Mac stepped into the house for the first time in what seemed like years. _

_"Yeah, Mom, it's me," she had replied, edging her way into the living-room. _

_"Why didn't you answer my calls?" her mother suddenly demanded, an edge in her voice. _

_"I-- I've been going through a lot," she had replied truthfully, turning bright red. _

_Her mom suddenly stood; dropping the magazine she'd been reading, "Cindy, I want you to rethink going back to Doctor Verbanski and--" _

_"How do you know I stopped going?" Mac had suddenly demanded, surprised. _

_"I called the secretary last week-- she informed me it's been _months _since your last session. Cindy, you can't keep everything hidden from all of us forever. You _need _someone to confide in, don't you know that? Don't you know how much your father and I have worried about you since you started college?" _

_"Mom, I'm not a basket case, for God's sake. I--" _

_"You're un_stable, _Cindy. You don't know what the hell you want anymore and--" _

_"So what if I don't? And thank God, I'm old enough to know that I'm through with this family-- with you," surprised at how quickly everything had gone wrong, she'd turned her back on her mother and had hastily made her way out of the house-- possibly for good. _

_--- _

"Mac, are you okay?" I suddenly ask, uncharacteristically snapping my fingers in front of her face.

"Yeah," she replies, looking slightly untruthful.

I stare at her, troubled, "Mac, if there's--"

"Veronica Mars!" a voice calls and as I turn, to my dismay, find a pair of persons I'd have to admit I'd least like to meet up with in the world: Dick Casablancas and Logan Echolls.

"Oh, hi," I reply, as Logan is suddenly and without warning, directly beside me; he smells good. What? I can't help but notice; he's changed his cologne. His hair smells good too-- he _looks _good.

"Hey, Veronica," he says, mutually embarrassed to have met me in public.

"So, taking in a movie, are we?" I ask, casually, acknowledging him and Dick with a wave.

"Yeah, didn't know we'd meet up with you too," Dick replies, "Hey, gorgeous," he whispers in an undertone.

She groans.

"I think her boyfriend might kick your ass if he catches wind of this attempted rendezvous. Mac's flattered and all, but--"

"Boyfriend?" Dick asks casually, but there's something in his tone-- _hurtfulness? _Odd, very odd.

"Veronica, could I have a word?" Logan asks casually.

Mac mimes for me to follow her to the concession stand, "One sec," I call to her as she is escorted against her will by a horny Dick.

"Will he _ever _change?" I ask casually, referring to Dick.

"God knows."

We laugh. To my surprise, it's not even an awkward laugh. It's… _real. _

"So, what can I do you for?"

"Look, my mom had this lighter. It was her grandfathers; it's silver, says _"FREE AT LAST"; _it's pretty much the only thing that survived the fire. It went missing the other night."

"How?"

"Well, there was this girl, and--"

"You little scamp," I interrupt sarcastically.

"She wanted a spell in the Jacuzzi. So, it's in the sports club at the Neptune Grand. I had the lighter on me, put it in a locker for safe-keeping, when I went back to get it, it was gone."

"Wow."

"Can you find it for me?" he asks.

I stare; there's so much happening so fast. The shock of seeing Logan after nearly half a year, and now something that'll keep me in close contact for another couple of days, "Of course," I reply.

---

**Weevil's **

"That's pretty," he says, gesturing towards the silver cigarette lighter, "Where'd you get it?"

"I found it on the beach," Carol replies, "pretty good find, isn't it?"

He nods and their lips meet intensely, "I love you so much," he whispers.

"I love you, Eli," their lips are one. He loves the warm feel of her naked skin against his; her beating heart against his chest. He's never felt this way before and he'll do anything to ensure that he never loses her.

---

"Are you _sure _you're all right?" I ask casually, as we ease onto the highway.

"Yeah, Veronica. Why?"

"You're just-- I dunno."

"Just spit it out," Mac replies, her face growing hot.

"Look, something's been bugging you for a while now and you--"

"It's just-- it's just hard right now, Veronica. Max and--"

"I thought you two were okay," I interject.

She shrugs her shoulders, "I don't know. I thought-- I thought he'd changed but he hasn't. Yeah, his sleeping habits have improved, the apartment's spotless and he's more _intimate-- _but it seems like a chore for him. It seems like he doesn't give a damn," I stare into her face and see that her eyes are damp with tears. I look away, embarrassed, "And I can't talk to my mom about anything because she thinks I'm mental. Urgh, it's just--" her shoulders are heaving.

"Look, it'll be fine. I promise. Okay, you'll spend the night at my place-- you can stay as long as you want."

"Veronica, I--"

"No. It's fine, Mac. You need me. I'm there."

---

"Hey, Dad. We're going to have a house-guest if that's okay."

Dad looks up from paperwork, "Hey, Mac."

"Hello, Sheriff Mars," she averts her eyes so he can't see they're still puffy.

We head into my bedroom, "You really don't have to do this, you know."

"Ah, trouble is, I want to. You'll stay here till Max gets home after Christmas. We'll get your stuff from his place tomorrow. Between Christmas and now, you need to decide what you want."

"I will," she promises, but she nonetheless seems unsure of herself.

Backup comes bounding into the room and spotting Mac as a potential new admirer, jumps up on her and begins licking her face.

---

After having dropped a relatively saner Mac off at her composition class, I head to mine.

The morning's Criminology class (first class of the new quarter) only manages to make my mind drift off to the fraternity case; Professor Schaffer has a TA on Tuesdays and Thursdays-- if history indeed repeats itself, perhaps the TA to this new professor is indeed the culprit. Shut up, Veronica. Lack of sleep is making you grip at straws. Point is, you've barely made _any _break in the case. The clock's ticking and you--

"Miss Mars?" Professor Schaffer's voice suddenly rings across the classroom.

"Yes?" I call back sweetly.

"Are we in Dreamland?"

Bless him; sixty years old, lecturing about some of the most gruesome murders in the past-- and speaking to students as if it's the eighteen hundreds. Ah, if only the world had more Professor Schaffers.

"Sorry, I was just thinking about the connections of this particular case-- the brutalities to that of the murders committed by the Manson family."

The class murmurs in agreement, "Smart girl," Professor Schaffer notes, and I can't help but beam.

---

After having viewed the surveillance video of the locker room and finding that no one pocketed the lighter, I found by viewing the surveillance of the Jacuzzi area that our culprit has dark hair. Her back was to the camera; geesh, her and Logan seemed cozy that night. What? Not jealous. More-- concerned; I don't want Logan catching an STD from a trashy-looking girl. That's what friends are for, right? Well, maybe a tad jealous.

But no lighter thievery; Logan obviously has the time period wrong. The thing must've been stolen later on. I stare around the empty room; I phoned the guy who works surveillance, told him there'd been a hit-and-run in the parking-lot and that the police wanted to question him. So, the guy's pretty gullible, but that only gives me about fifteen more minutes. Hmm, surveillance of the floor Logan's on.

What's this? Our dark-haired broad carrying on a pleasant conversation with a guy who works room-service, while holding a… lighter. Ah, the plot thickens. All's I have to do now is find this… _Chad_and question him.

"What are you doing here?" an angry voice suddenly demands.

"Sorry, I'm Kimberly-- the guy who works surveillance told me--"

_"I'm _the guy who works surveillance."

"Oh, well, then, pleasure meeting you. And I'll be going now." I turn, and thank God he's too fixated on working out what just went on that he doesn't bother to follow me.

---

" Chad," I greet abruptly.

"Yes?"

"A couple weeks ago, you were talking to a girl. Dark, curly hair, nice figure--"

"You mean Carol?"

---

"Here you go," I hand the lighter to Logan.

"Thanks, how'd you--"

"It was that girl. She stole it the morning after you two-- I snuck into her apartment and took it this morning."

"You--"

"Don't worry. Mac was watching out for me. That girl's got my skin; unlike your Carol. I'd be careful who I--" Logan's eyes widen in disbelief, "What?"

"Nothing," he replies, "thanks-- for finding this."

"Finding things. It is what I do best, you know."

We dissolve into laughter.

"I miss this."

"What?"

"This. Us. Friends, you know?"

"I do too," I feel my face turn crimson. Goddamn it, must I choose the most inopportune moment to start blushing?

He ignores it, "I'm glad that we're--"

"Talking? Me too. It's good. I missed you, Logan."

"I missed you too, Veronica."

Before I can escape the intensity of the moment by fleeing, I find myself suddenly and unexpectedly caught up in a tight embrace with Logan. Once again, the only word to describe it is _right. _I find myself caught up in the smell of him even after we've broken apart again.

"Gotta go-- Mac's waiting," I whisper.

"Yeah, yeah, of course."

"Bye, Logan," I head out of the room feeling confused and oddly exhilarated. Happy in a way that I haven't felt in months.

So much is going on, but this-- this is a surprisingly sweet and welcome way to simplify matters a bit; Logan and I on speaking terms again? The word _'friend' _was dropped? unanticipated but nonetheless quite wanted; what's the French phrase Lilly constantly used the summer preceding her demise? _C'est la vie. _


	10. Not So Silent Night

**Chapter Ten: Not-So-Silent Night **

December 18th; a week before Christmas and we're on break from school until the first week of January. The first quarter should be behind us all, but is nonetheless still ahead.

I'm not feeling too festive this year. Yeah, the good old Christmas tree in the living-room is a pretty sight, neatly wrapped packages glinting underneath its branches and a twinkling star set on top of it all, but I'm feeling sort of empty.

The only productive thing I've managed to do in between the start of the quarter and the break is cheering up Mac. She's opened up a bit more and has decided to have a lengthy conversation with Max concerning their relationship after the holidays and moving back home for good-- she's even apologized to her mom over the phone and agreed to weekly one-hour sessions with some shrink her mom insists will do wonders. I'm happy for her and her presence is also managing to get Dad to lay off a bit; he's no longer calling me four or five times a day from work; the number has dwindled down to two. Whether or not Mac had some surreptitious conversation with Dad and agreed to it, she's accompanying me on most of the cases that are pouring in. It's pretty good having her around to talk to now that she's all smiles and laughs again. I'm glad I managed to help her out.

A knock at the door; I look up, after a look through the peephole, I see that it's Mac.

"Hey," I greet, opening the door wide to allow her entrance, "I was wondering when you'd be back."

"Sorry," she replies, heading into the kitchen, her arms full of groceries, "you know, one might say it was _me _doing _you _the favor."

"The nerve of some people," I mutter dryly, pulling the case of Diet Coke from off of the table and sticking it in the fridge; Dad says me and Mac are going through them like crazy. "So… _dear, _how _was _your last day before the holidays?"

"Pretty… _abysmal. _Dick showed up today, surprise there-- I don't think he's missed a single class since the quarter began," her voice drips with irony.

"Such contempt from such a young girl," I mutter, rolling my eyes.

She laughs and pulls a bag of freaky-looking vegetables from out of one of the brown bags, "And, _what, _might I ask, is this?" I ask, pointing at the strange purple thing.

"It's Japanese eggplant. You, my friend, need to broaden your veggie knowledge with a vegan as your best friend."

"I try ever so hard to please you," I reply in a dead-on impression of Scarlet O'Hara, "and yet all you see is my drawer-fulls of money," I toss the bag of eggplants at her and return to my normal voice, "I, on the other hand, am used to eggplant drenched in marinara and mozzarella cheese. So, forgive me."

She rolls her eyes, "Well, here's an early Christmas present," she pulls out a folded piece of paper and hands it to me.

"Hmm, I guess I should return my legit gift and get you a pack of drawing paper."

"Read."

'_07 Blowout Party! Booze, tunes, and Booze!_

"Tempting," I reply, folding the paper back into half, "very tempting," I hand it back, _"However, _a party hosted by the Pi Sigs is bound to be trouble. Remember last year? The rapist?"

"Well, we need to get out. We'll get Wallace to come. I think three's a good number to protect each other."

"I'll think about it," I clap my hands, "now set about making dinner, woman!"

---

**Dick's bedroom**

The first day of vacation dawns and Dick, staring at last night's "guest" can't help but wish he'd left her at the bar. Why can't he wake up alone anymore?

That's the trouble, he _fears _being alone now. Ever since Cassidy jumped-- ever since the events of his past were made known-- spurned on by Kendall's murder and Dick Senior's incarceration, he cannot stand being alone. His whole family-- however dysfunctional beforehand-- fell apart before his eyes in a matter of months. He doesn't understand how Logan's outlook on life can be, for the most part, so… _sane. _Maybe because Logan still has Trina and a half-brother, he feels different. If she gave a crap, Dick would have a mother; maybe he could be living with her as opposed to Logan and the Pi Sigs. But she made everything damn clear at Cassidy's funeral. She didn't even wear black-- she had informed Dick that her and her "family" would be staying out of the country for good, living between a home in Italy and a summer house in France. Knowing at last how Cassidy had felt, Dick had screamed the worst things possible at her in order to get her to know before she flitted off.

He'd called her a hag, a tramp… a _bitch. _He'd told her how much he loathed her, told her what a selfish money-grubbing greedy bitch she was. It was quite a scene.

Dick lies back down, knowing his "guest" will leave before the hour's up; if only he actually had _some_one…

---

**Wallace's**

His left hand grasps the ringing phone, and pressing the _TALK _button, he holds the receiver to his ear, "Hey, Veronica," he says, having read the Caller ID.

"Hey, Wallace. You busy tomorrow?"

"No," he replies, easily hiding the bitterness in his voice as he continues, "I'm usually free."

"Well, Mac and I were-- it was her idea, obviously-- we're heading down to the Pi Sigs's annual Holiday Blowout party and we wanted you to come with."

He smiles, "I wouldn't miss it for the word."

---

"Condoms, booze, pot. Okay, we're good to go."

"Veronica, why must you be so…"

"_Amusing?" _I finish for Mac, smiling, "It's who I am, my dear. Ask anyone who doesn't hate me. Trouble is, I can only name three, four people tops."

Mac subsides into giggles as we park outside Wallace's house; I grab my cell phone and dial his, "Yeah?" he asks after picking up.

"Your cavalry is here, my dear boy," I reply.

"Okay," he hangs up.

"Not too strong with words, he is."

A few seconds later, Wallace slides into the backseat, "You're sworn to secrecy, Veronica. Mom thinks we're doing a study group thing."

"You fiend."

And without further ado, we're on our way to the party of the century. Note the sarcasm.

---

"_In other news, the double-trial of Liam Fitzpatrick and Vincent "Vinnie" Van Lowe took and unexpected turn yesterday when--"_

"You guys. _Shh!" _I hiss at Mac and Wallace, annoyed by their loud laughter.

"_--all charges against Liam Fitzpatrick were dropped. The jury found evidence to be irrelevant to the case and inside sources say it's likely that "Vinnie" will be found guilty as early as next month."_

Wow. Liam's going to be on the streets soon. I'm sure Dad's pleased.

---

**The Sheriff Department**

Heading back from the courtroom, Keith is infuriated. He can't believe that they actually let Liam off. He'll be back on the streets by tomorrow.

He rings his hands in fear; Liam's words echoing through his mind:_ "__I'm getting out of here one way or another. And when I do, I'm going to make sure your daughter pays for my time. You remember that at her funeral."_ The first part of his threat became reality; could the second…?

No; he'd never let the bastard hurt Veronica.

He'll save Veronica if it kills him.

---

**Dick**

**  
**"Dude, where are the chicks?" he asks Logan, "It's like a total sausage fest."

"Dude, it's _your _fraternity's party. And, dude, _you _need to stop watching _American Pie."_

"Whatever. Yo! Rob, how've you been, my good man?" Dick claps a hand on Rob Lane's back, causing him to choke on the beer he's holding.

"I've been okay, Dickie. Why do you ask?"

"Well, you know… It was your fraternity got blown up."

"I'm adjusting, I guess. It's been hard."

The doors open; Dick looks up. Veronica Mars, some Fennel guy who doesn't have a hand and the _Ghostworld _chick.

"Veronica!" he heads over there just as she stops dead in her tracks.

---

"Is that Rob Lane?" I ask, pointing.

"Yeah," Wallace replies, "Why?"

"Oh, don't you know me but at all?"

I head over to him as Dick catches up with Mac.

"So, Rob. Quick question. I'm--"

"Veronica Mars, amateur sleuth, Hearst student, yada yada yada."

"_Amateur? _I'll have you know I'm an official PI nowadays. I have my license if--"

"It's cool," he holds up a hand, "look, we all know you're on a case. So, what is it? Stolen bird? Stolen cashbox? Stolen playbook?"

"_Someone _had a frat member as a friend that went to Neptune. Too bad the aforementioned frat member's… _gone."_

"Wait a sec," he holds up another hand, "Are you trying to grill me for the frat bomb? Because I--"

"I don't know, _Rob. _Doesn't it seem pretty odd that you just happened to be out for 'groceries' when the bomb went off? Call me old-fashioned, but that seems like a pretty crappy alibi, given that it was three in the afternoon. What business does a frat boy have getting groceries at three?"

"You're really something," he heads off.

"Well, that's better than nothing!" I retort.

Huh, I need to work on my comebacks.

---

The evening progresses with little development.

The party becomes wilder as more drinks are poured and more 'distinguished guests' saunter in through the open doors.

At around eight, Weevil and some girl head in. She looks sort of trampy, but to each his own, right?

"How's it going, V?" he asks casually as his new friend heads off to get them some refreshments.

"Easy going, you know me."

He chuckles as his girlfriend comes back, "Wanna dance?" she asks, already slightly intoxicated.

"Sure," they head out onto the 'dance floor,' as Mac is once again cornered by Dick and Logan approaches me, "You wanna… dance or something?"

"I never thought you'd ask."

---

**Mac**

"Yes, Dick, that's great," she retorts, feeling strangely intoxicated as the bass of the music swells, "but, I'm a designated driver and--"

"Chill, Ghostworld."

She rolls her eyes, "I don't know what--"

And suddenly, his mouth is on hers and she doesn't pull away. She sinks into the kiss; allowing his tongue to enter her mouth, loving every second of it-- and not knowing what the hell she's doing…

---

**Weevil**

Carol puts her arms around his waist; he casts a glance at Veronica, who's staring open-mouthed at some blonde guy and a Goth chick making-out.

_She's something else, _he thinks and then he sees that Veronica's dancing with Logan Echolls. _Are they dating again?_ He thinks annoyed, and his heart drops into his stomach when Logan pulls out a silver cigarette lighter.

Suddenly, everything makes perfect sense.

---

"Goodnight, Wallace-- Merry Christmas and what-not," he inclines his head to the two of us, gets out of the car and heads inside.

"Do you think his mom will buy that our study date ran till midnight?" Mac asks, inclining her head to the dashboard.

"You're pretending it didn't happen then?"

"What?"

"Mac, _please. _Everyone saw, so…"

"Look, I--"

"Okay, a drunk mistake can--"

"Veronica, I wasn't drunk. I was sober and it felt-- _right."_

"You are aware you still have a boyfriend, right?"

"Not anymore. We broke up last night… why do you think I've been in such a good mood today?"

---

The phone rings; after having made sure that Mac is sound asleep, I pick up, "Hello?" I ask, not recognizing the number.

"Look, it's Brandon. Remember me?"

"Brandon Beck? I've been trying to reach you for weeks. _Look--"_

"Okay, I lied about Dean Murray, but I was forced to do so. We need to meet. Two weeks from today."

"Two weeks? Talk about long-term plans."

"I'm jetting off to Missouri to be with my mom for Christmas. In the mean time, you're Veronica Mars; get my address and what-not."

"But--"

"Look, I may have lied about the Dean, but I _do _know who blew up the frat and why. See you then."

"But--"

"Two weeks."

And he hangs up, leaving me to wonder if his new information is legitimate.

---

**Logan's**

A knock at the door; Logan's smile widens as he opens at the door, "So, Dick. You and--"

His face falls.

It's Weevil.

"Weevil, I--"

"Shut up, _white boy," _his voice drips with anger and hatred, "so… first Lilly, then Carol."

"What are you--?"

"_**SHUT UP!" **_Weevil's voice roars; bouncing off the walls and reverberating a hundred times louder inside Logan's head, "Did you think I'd never notice? Did you think I was _dumb?" _he spits the last word out with such contempt that Logan feels as though he's just been slapped.

"Look, man, I--" but Weevil's fist comes out of nowhere before Logan can even try to back away. It hits him so hard that he stumbles, and falls backwards and onto the hard floor.


	11. The Two Veronicas

**Chapter Eleven: The Two Veronicas**

It's strange and almost uplifting that in a mere three days time, I may have solved the fraternity case for good.

God knows why I'm so willing to believe Rob Lane this time around; after all, his Dean Murray evidence proved to be nothing but a hoax. But, all the same, something in his voice… There definitely was _something_ in his voice to assure me that this time wouldn't be a dud-- _sincerity, _perhaps? The urgency? I don't know what it is, but I'm hoping for the best. The bastard responsible needs to be put behind bars. _Please let it end, _I think somewhat bitterly as I toss clothes into a hamper, _Please let it end…_

Mac moved back home with her parents last week. What with the reconciliation with her mother and self underway-- and the addition of new love interest, Dick Casablancas, things are going relatively well for her-- although I am still surprised and somewhat shocked by her decision to have kissed Dick at the frat party, I can deal with it. Sure, I might have gagged a bit the other day when I found them lingering in each other's arms at Mac's and I'd dropped by to take her to the new Indie French flick, but nonetheless…

I have more pressing matters on my mind anyway.

Wallace. The frat bomb. DC. The words enter and exit my mind in close succession; oftentimes overlapping and causing more confusion, more despair, more… _hopelessness. _It'd be so much easy to live life without-- _feeling-- _without having the ability to _love _others and try to protect them and if not, hold those responsible for their wrongdoings against them. God, I'm sounding like a goddamn psychopath here. I need to shut the hell up before I blow my brains out.

Breathe, Veronica. Just breathe.

Take life one day at a time.

Finally.

You'd never be_lieve _how draining it is at times waiting for the glorious "money shot;" okay, Mr. Rochester, let's give her a nice little kiss. One, two--

A smart series of three raps on the car window.

Damn.

Hastily stowing the camera away, I look innocently at the person responsible for interrupting my business. "Yes?" I ask, sweetly, rolling the window down. That act took _years _of practice to master, so don't try this at home, kids.

No worries.

Early twenties-ish girl, medium height, rail thin, blonde hair, brown eyes. Nothing to worry about.

"Are you Veronica Mars?" she asks, beaming.

"Sometimes," I reply as Mr. Rochester gets into a car and pulls out onto the road. Damn. I'll have to finish the case another day.

"Ooh," she points at the car, "are you on a case?"

"Yes," I hiss, pulling her hand down as Mr. Rochester's mistress is still waving goodbye at him, "would you mind being a little more discreet?"

"Sorry, Trina told me--"

"Trina. _Echolls?"_

She nods, beaming brighter still, "She said you two were old chums. The producers got Mayor Ferrer's okay to film on location in Neptune."

"Film. Film _what?" _

"The Veronica Mars/Lilly Kane/Aaron Echolls movie-- that is, the _Heather Valette/_Lilly Kane/Aaron Echolls movie."

"_That? _I thought it was axed."

"Nope, we just got green lit," she beams again, "Trina fought tooth and nail. She's producing-- and playing herself."

"Of course."

"And Trina--"

"Tipped you off on where I might be to give you an insight into my complicated character?"

She nods.

"And who are you?"

"Oh, Veronica. Sinclair. Imagine that! Two Veronicas!"

"Imagine. Sinclair-- you don't happen to be related to Madison Sinclair?"

"She's my cousin. Isn't she fabulous?"

I grimace.

Suddenly, she's slipped into the seat beside me.

"I--"

"Where are we going? Come on. Let's solve that case!" she takes out a little notebook and begins jotting things down with a pink pen. Help me, dear God. Please help me…

---

"This belong to you?" I ask, opening the door and dragging Veronica in with me.

Trina beams, facing me, "Oh, so, you've met," she turns to Veronica, "Veronica is my protégé," she pinches her cheek, "had I not been front-row center at the premiere of her production of the Cincinnati Players' _Sound of Music, _we wouldn't have had her."

Logan enters the room, "Trina. Veronica," he sees me, "Veronica," he repeats.

"What?" she asks.

I stare at Logan; his face is bruised, "Logan, what happened to your--"

"You know my little brother. A surfing accident. Imagine!" she beams, "Now, Veronica, we really must catch up. How have you been?"

"Fine. I--"

"Oh, I feel like a kid again. Look at us all… bonding." Trina beams at the possibility of all of us in the same room.

"I'm having the time of my life," I reply, rolling my eyes.

"Oh, you!" she lightly punches my shoulder.

"Veronica took me on a case," Veronica beams.

Logan rolls his eyes; our eyes meet and I almost blush.

"Look, sorry, Trina. I hate to leave this little… get-together but I've got to get home and… sort socks or something."

"That's too bad," her face falls, "Veronica never shuts up about you. It's 'Veronica this' and 'Veronica that;' isn't she a cutie?"

"Gorgeous."

"We're negotiating a sequel if this movie does well-- so many possibilities with that bus-crash. Cameo, perhaps?"

"I've always wanted to pull a Hitchcock, but if you don't mind… I'd better get going. Home. Socks. You know. I'd love to stay. Really," I turn to leave, "See you later, Logan," and I can't help but give a slip of a smile.

---  
**Logan's**

Thankfully, Trina and Veronica are out for their third day of shooting. Trina acts like Veronica is some little lap-dog. What an annoyance-- unlike the girl whom she's portraying. He's such an idiot. What an idiot he is; he stares into the mirror, fingers a bruise and remembers.

---

_The second his head hit the floor, he was knocked unconscious. _

_He woke about a half an hour later to find a forlorn Dick staring at him, slightly scared. "What happened, man?" he'd asked._

"_Had a run-in with an ex-PCH'er."_

"_What're you gonna do about it?" Dick had asked, helping him to his feet._

"_Nothing. I deserved it."_

_And continuing to grimace, he'd headed into the bathroom, showered and popped in a DVD, trying to get his mind off of things._

_The next morning, _Carol _had called. She was blissfully ignorant of Weevil's "taking care of" Logan the day prior and her flirtations had both disgusted-- and slightly intrigued Logan. He'd nonetheless told her to get rid of his number because he was through with her._

_Oh, well._

_It's not like they'd been dating._

_Stupid bimbo…_

_---_

Logan stares out into oblivion, breathing it all in.

He hates his life so much sometimes it's insane.

---

"Veronica, wait up!"

I turn around, hearing my name called, and my stomach suddenly plummets a hundred feet.

Dear Lord, shoot me now.

Veronica Sinclair-- and Trina Echolls.

Why me?

"To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?"

"We finished shooting for the day," Veronica says beaming.

"Her first onscreen kiss," Trina beams at Veronica.

Hmm, I wouldn't be surprised if it were her last.

"Why are you here?" I demand.

"We're coming along for the ride, Veronica."

"But-- but-- I--"

"Nonsense. Come along, Veronica."

And before I can protest, Trina's shot-gun and Veronica's in the back, staring at me eagerly.

"Hurry along, Veronica Mars," Trina slightly snaps, "I've got an interview at 10 to discuss my producing debut, childhood, aftermath, etc. I'll be glossing over the highly publicized and _very _dramatacized public drunken brawl with Britney Spears."

"Of course you will," I grit my teeth in annoyance and scoot into the driver's seat wanting to bang my head onto the dashboard until the point of unconsciousness.

---

**Mac's**

She still finds it difficult to believe how right their relationship feels; their lips and mouths are one. She pulls away, staring into his eyes and feeling so… _changed. _

He pulls away from her, "Your parents seem to like me."

She lies back down on the bed, "That's because they are oblivious to your beer-guzzling, womanizing, frat-boy ways. I don't even know how I can stand the sight of you."

His face falls, "Look, Mac. I'm sorry. I--"

"You don't have to," she warns, remembering the disastrous other occasion upon which he had attempted to pour out his soul to her.

"No. It's been hard ever since Cassidy jumped. Ever since… the truth came out. Mom leaves, Dad leaves, Cassidy's gone. I don't have anyone-- I didn't have anyone. And I'm glad I have you now."

"Cindy," her mom pops her head into the bedroom, "would your boyfriend like something to drink?"

"No thanks, Mrs. Mackenzie. I'd better get going-- _we'd _better get going. We have reservations at seven."

He gets up to leave and takes Mac's hand; she blushes crimson, "What a charmer," her mother whispers to her an undertone as they leave and Mac can't help but smile. A genuine smile; something she hasn't really felt in a long time…

---

"Veronica, is it true that you single-handedly solved the Lilly Kane case?"

"What? Yes, you could say that."

"It's for this cutsie little Q&A Veronica's doing for _Entertainment Weekly. _You'll be noted as 'anonymous' of course… unless you'd like a pseudonym, that is."

I roll my eyes in annoyance, "That won't be necessary."

And the list of questions goes on. And on. _"How did you feel following the death of Lilly Kane?" "How did your father feel when he was reduced to a slummy PI hitting the Neptune scene?" "How did you react upon witnessing first-hand the bus-crash that killed several classmates?"_

Did I mention I'd love to strangle her?

---

"That was _amazing, _Veronica," Veronica sighs.

"Yes, wonderful," I retort annoyed.

I finally managed to snap that money shot-- but not before I had had the chance for Trina and Veronica to squeal in delight at my cleverness.

We were almost caught.

Damn them.

Veronica and Trina get out of the car, "That was oodles of fine. We'll have to do it again sometime, Veronica. But, ciao for now. Veronica and I don't want to keep our interviewer waiting!"

They head into the hotel to smarten themselves up.

Oh. My. _God._

---

**The Sheriff Department**

Keith stares at his face in the bathroom mirror before heading back into his office.

He looks like a mess; bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, is his hair grayer? What with the frat case and Liam Fitzpatrick on the streets, he can't say he blames himself for "letting himself go" as Veronica would say.

Veronica.

His heart aches at the name now; he fears for her every waking moment and refuses to tell her what he knows about Liam. He doesn't want her to try and capture the guy-- bring him to justice; it would be too dangerous. She needs to lead a calm, quiet life.

And there's one man who may be able to assist him in providing her with that.

---

It's today.

Trina's and Veronica's unwelcome presence in my life managed to drive the notion from out of my head. I check my cell-phone. Yep. Two weeks to the day. Wow. If he's not playing some twisted little joke, the case could be solved by this time tomorrow. Dad wouldn't have to be such a wreck anymore.

My hands shaking slightly, I grab my laptop off of the table and type in Brandon Beck's name and phone number.

_A page to Douglas Applegate, subscription to Playboy Magazine _(ew), _and, bingo. Address._

What do you know? The answer to one of my problems may be a mere fifteen minutes away.

---

I pull out onto the freeway and the phone rings. Hyperventilating, I answer. But it's Veronica, "No, I'm busy. Some other time. I promise," I fling the phone to the floor. I hope he hasn't decided to pull another disappearing act. I will _kill _him.

My heart thundering in my chest, I pull into the driveway of the house; a light is on in the living-room as it's already dark out. Brandon, please come through for me kid.

The door's open but I knock any way.

No answer.

I head inside, "Brandon? It's Veronica."

Ugh. This house is so… _perfect. _Reminiscent of all houses in '09er-dom, every surface is spotless and glowing white. Framed pictures adorn the tables showing Brandon with his parents in various rich people resorts. Ah, the life of the rich and the fabulous.

"Brandon?" I enter the living-room; the source of the light.

That's when I see him.

A single, clean gunshot wound to the head, blood pooling from the fresh wound.

An unearthly scream makes its way out of me as I fall to the floor and check for a pulse; there is none. He's gone.

Tears streaming down my hot cheeks; surprised mingled with fury, I dial for the Sheriff Department.

And an epiphany hits me out of the clear blue-- it all fits; this time around, his evidence was legit-- Brandon knew something.

And whoever killed him was willing to go to great lengths to keep him quiet for good.


	12. Slam Drunk

**Chapter Twelve: Slam Drunk**

My hands are trembling; I'm freezing cold, yet my forehead is boiling hot and perspiring. Looking out on this quiet street on such a silent evening, you'd never expect that such a crime took place here tonight in this very house. After dialing for the police, I'd made a disturbing discovery; whoever murdered Brandon had made a game out of it. I found a length of rope beside the body. He'd been bound for, God knows for how long, before the fatal gunshot wound to the head that had immediately killed him.

My eyes sting with tears as the body is wheeled out on a stretcher and then placed in the back of an ambulance which in turn zooms off into the distance; lights flashing blindingly red although there's obviously no need for them.

He's gone.

Brandon Beck has been murdered.

And all because he _knew _something about all of this.

And the strange, morbid part is, I'm almost bitter he was offed before he could tell me what, exactly, it was that he knew. Who blew up the fraternity? Who blew up the goddamned fraternity and why. I smack my forehead with an open palm; God, what am I saying? He shouldn't have died. But, then again, whatever he knew… it could've changed everything.

A cold gust of wind blows from the direction of the coastline; slamming into my face and body. I shiver, and soon feel a warm sweater wrapped around my arms, "Thanks," I murmur, turning around to face my sole friend here.

Leo.

Dad had stepped out of the office for a Starbucks run when I'd phoned in so they'd sent Leo instead, "Just got off the phone with your dad," he whispers, "he made me promised to drive you home."

"I can--"

"You know Keith," he pauses, "he wants you safe, so that's why when you hear about this on the news, you'll be the 'anonymous tipster,'" he continues following my puzzled expression, "he doesn't want you caught up in any more of Neptune's scandals. You've had enough of those to last a lifetime."

I look down at my feet, "Ah, is he pissed?"

"I'd say so. But for now, it'd be good for him to see you at home, tucked in, safe and sound."

We share a laugh-- which quickly turns into a silent mourning as we realize the circumstances we've now been forced into, "It's horrible, isn't it?" I ask calmly.

He nods; another silence.

"Look, Veronica. I'm just about finished up in there, so I'll drive you home and get your car back to you tomorrow."

"Hmm, I'm not one hundred percent sure that I can trust you with my keys."

"Come on, Veronica. We're past the 'hormonally charged relationship' of yesteryear."

We laugh again and I toss him my keys after having fished them out of my pocket, "That's just the car. I don't want you sneaking into my bedroom late at night and posting pictures of me on your conquest site or whatever it is you crazy kids are doing online nowadays."

"You worry so," he says dryly and disappears back inside.

I stare at his retreating back and resume my crazy thoughts.

And to think that I thought my life was messed-up before.

---

I stare out the window at the side of the road, feeling empty as hell.

Leo's a smooth driver; he doesn't make me nervous or anything which is good. Sitting here, reliving it, it still seems so surreal-- scratch that-- _un_real. God, I'm such a nervous wreck thanks to everything that's been going on since freshman year ended: Piz, the tape, Logan, the Castle, the breakup, DC, Wallace, the fraternity… and now this. How many more people would suffer as a result of the fraternity before the case was solved-- the criminal awaiting trial--? and how long before I would be myself again, Veronica Mars, Private Investigator, trying to make it through three more years of college before (hopefully) making something out of myself?

"Veronica?"

"Oh, what?"

"I was trying to tell you that we're almost home-- _you're _almost home; no funny business, I promise."

"You're too kind."

Silence.

"Why do you do it, Veronica?"

"What?"

"You know-- _this-- _trying to accomplish every little thing. You--"

"The frat bomb isn't little," I cut in, coolly.

"You know what I mean, Veronica."

"I have to."

"Why?"

"Because I-- fourteen innocent people died. Including Piz. I need to know that the person or persons responsible are locked up somewhere, left to rot."

The car stops in front of the apartment complex.

"But you're not-- you need someone, Veronica."

My heart is racing; I feel as if I've been plunged into a dream or something. Leo, the car, me-- it's so Goodman surreal I could throw up, "I--" but what do I want to say. _Is _there anything _to _say? The car heats up suddenly, causing my heart to almost bruise my chest with its pounding. I need some air or something; Leo-- his face, his eyes, his lips, "I--" what the hell are you doing, Veronica? Oh, God, this can't be happening.

But it is.

Our eyes lock, our lips meet and I feel an intense pull between the two of us as we somehow unexpectedly plunge back into a relationship that ended nearly three years ago without having ever really had the chance to flourish-- or even begin.

The moment ends but still lingers in the air; the normal temperature of the cool evening returns to the car and we pull apart from each other, panting slightly. Intense, much? "Thanks for-- for the ride," and pausing to kiss him on the cheek, I wrench the car-door open and bolt inside

---

**Logan's**

He stares at her, slightly vexed as she continues to flip through her entertainment magazines, unperturbed by his stare of sheer annoyance, "Am I the only one who doesn't see eye-to-eye with the whole Ashton/Demi thing?"

"Trina, when are you going to-- y'know. Scoot? Vamoose?"

"What's the problem, little bro? I thought you loved my company," she grins.

"Yeah, but your little friend…" he gestures to the bathroom where Veronica is currently showering, "Your _protégé, _that is-- she's another story."

"Oh, calm down. She's a tart-- a sweetie-pie."

"Whatever you say but she's driving me crazy. She's driving _Dick _crazy and that's saying something."

"Well, we'll be out of your hair in a couple of days. The shoot's wrapping pretty soon. And sorry the company wouldn't spring for a room at the Neptune Grand-- or even The Camelot for our cast and crew, but I thought you--"

"Shut _up, _Trina," he grins. God love Trina, the smarmy arrogant airhead she is.

---

**Wallace's**

He pops the screen up and slides into his bedroom; weeks of repeat tries have helped him get this practice down to a tee; his mother is completely ignorant to his nightly wanderings-- and by no means does he wish to enlighten her.

His brother's slight snores tell him that he is fast asleep. Wallace takes his shoes off and puts them back in the corner where he found them a few hours earlier.

Then, a voice.

"Wallace."

His mother.

A flick of the light switch shows him that she's sitting on his bed-- and she looks furious, "Where have you been?" she demands as she stands.

"I-- out. Obviously," he shrugs his shoulders, "what do you care?"

"Wallace, I am your _mother," _she spits the last word out, managing to infuriate him all the more.

"So? What say should you have? It's my life."

"_I _am trying to protect you."

"From what? This?" he shows her the stump of his right arm, "I can manage just fine by myself, thanks."

She rounds on him; he does not recoil. He stands his ground, showing how much he's grown the last few years, "Wallace, you can not go about life acting like nothing's happened-- you're not…"

"What? _Whole? Sane? _You wouldn't be either if your entire life was _wrecked _during an act you were performing in order to _better _yourself and the world."

"Wallace."

"Just stay the hell away from me, Mom," and with that said, he exits the room, locks himself in the bathroom and falls asleep surprisingly quick despite the circumstances.

---

A few weeks later, school has resumed and the buzz on the murder of Brandon Beck is everywhere. I cannot escape it. Thank God, the whole 'anonymous tipster' thing worked. No one knows it was me who found him dead.

Dad's and my relationship is on pretty shaky ground right now; we had a big blow-out after Leo drove me home that night. He told me I was acting 'immature' and as if I was impervious to danger. After informing Dad that I was twenty years old, he stormed off to bed, I stormed off to bed and the following morning, we were acting as though nothing had happened-- although there lingered a stale bit of resentment from the previous night's argument.

Leo and I are still going strong. After he drove my car back home that night, we shared a passionate talk and make-out session. I'm glad I rediscovered him.

He's providing _some _stability at least in the madness that is my existence.

To make matters worse, the first day back from the holidays, I called Wallace's house to offer him a ride to school. Alicia had arranged that with me before the fall quarter had started. She'd picked up the phone and been a total… _bitch. _She informed me that Wallace wouldn't be needing my assistance anymore, that she'd "changed her mind." I haven't even seen Wallace at school; are his mother's Nazi-esque actions causing him to want to avoid me altogether now? Have both our parents gone completely cuckoo?

---

**The Sheriff Department**

He's halfway through dialing Veronica when he remembers she's got a class today. He's been working up the nerve to apologize for days; it's time he filled her in. She needs to know the truth. About Liam. About everything. How can he blame her for being secretive if that's the life she learned?

A knock at the door; Keith looks up from his cell, "Yes?"

The door opens to reveal Inga on the other side.

"Keith, it's Mayor Ferrer. One of the workers clearing the debris from the fraternity-- he found something."

Keith stares at her in disbelief, and heading over to the site, he's in at a loss for words. When the search was called off, he never thought-- he never _dreamed…_

It's as if the world has stopped spinning; is it possible that something has happened with the case after months of nothing?

---

I head out of my class to find a familiar face grinning at me.

Leo.

"Hey," I wrap my arms around him and greet him with a long kiss, "You just fulfilled my number one fantasy: being stalked by my steady at campus."

"That's… telling," he pulls away from me, "Veronica, there's been an arrest in the fraternity case."

My eyes widen in surprise, "Spill."

---

**Wallace's**

He takes another shot; and the liquor goes right through him. He doesn't feel anything as it burns his mouth and throat. He wishes he did. He wishes there was something to make the pain go away; to make it all end. Well, the easy way out would be death. But here he is, alive and well-- somewhat well. If only there was something that didn't make the pain come to the surface. That would be a miracle all right.

He raises the full glass to his lips (God, how many has he had)?, and drains it; he giggles as he realizes how pissed Alicia's going to be when she discovers he raided the booze. Oh, well. He'll throw her a twenty and have her buy some more.

After the night she discovered his secret, she's been unbearable. She rarely leaves his side, keeps on casting him suspicious looks, insists on driving him to school, and has a laundry-list of questions ready for him whenever she deserts him for ten or fifteen minutes to run errands. How will she react this time when she comes home only to find her beloved son… plastered?

He laughs again and takes another shot without tasting it. He's almost finished off the bottle.

The door creaks open.

Uh-oh.

"Hey, Mom!" he calls enthusiastically.

"Wallace?" she enters the living-room, her arms laden with groceries, "What are you--?" her face falls; she places the bags on the coffee table, "Wallace, have you been drinking?"

"Guess so," he shrugs his shoulders.

"My God. You're drunk," she looks stupefied; as if she's been slapped across the face by this realization.

"So what?" he asks.

"Wallace, you--"

"Look, we've been through this _sob fest _God knows how many times before. Point is, I'm sick of it. I don't want to listen to you anymore."

"Wallace."

"I'm leaving."

"And where do you plan on going?" she blocks the doorway, only further aggravating him.

"Out," he pushes her aside, wrenches the door open and steps into the calm cool air outside. How ironic that it completely foils his emotions.

He doesn't even think as he pulls the key out of his pocket; before Alicia has even realize what he's doing, he's gotten into the drivers' seat and put the key into the ignition.

He vaguely sees and hears her protest through the void as he pulls out of the driveway; he thinks he hears something along the lines of: _"Wallace, you can't even drive sober. Get out of that car," _another nagging warning. For the last time. He's through with her; he's getting away. Where he's headed, he has no idea.

Everything is going smoothly until he is nearly out onto the next street.

That's when it happens; without warning, he slams into a tree.

His head slams onto the drivers' wheel and he tastes blood in his mouth; that's when everything goes black.


	13. Ring of Liars

**Chapter Thirteen: Ring of Liars**

The blinding fluorescent lights, Dad and Alicia side-by-side, looking distressed. As for me-- my hair unkempt, days' lack of sleep taking their toll on my appearance. All of us sharing one thing in common: wanting Wallace to pull through. Hmm, déjà vu anyone? Been there, done that. I feel like I've been hurled back into the middle of the sweltering summer once again; Wallace's life jeopardized, mounting guilt, infuriation… It seems as if I've pulled a _Quantum Leap--_ one exception, however. Leo.

"Hey," he hands me a cup of coffee. Two packets of sweet-and-low and a touch of creamer. Perfect. I take a sip, "Thanks," I murmur; he slides into the seat beside me and squeezes my hand gently.

After his drunken mistake, Wallace was immediately knocked unconscious upon impact. Nothing was permanently damaged, but it nonetheless took him a couple of days to open his eyes. After regaining consciousness, he's taken to babbling incoherently-- as if he's in a daze. He's feverish, the doctors have informed us, and will be cured in a matter of days. Thank God. It could've been a million times worse.

Why the hell did he do this?

That's really what's getting to me through all of this. God, how could he be so careless-- so idiotic--? Alicia's blaming herself, but Dad has told her that no one factor can be given full responsibility. The full magnitude of the circumstances got to him as we all sensed (though hoped otherwise) deep down that they would.

I stare at Dad; he gives me a rather forced smile and I return it.

A couple days after Wallace's "accident," Dad and I had our first heart-to-heart in what seemed like ages; Dad apologized for being so smothering, while I apologized for being such an airhead. He told me that he was just afraid of my involvement in everything. Other than that, nothing too major has happened-- the arrest made in the case ended up being dismissed within a couple of days for obvious reasons.

---

_Leo stared at me, smiling, "So formal? No, 'let's kiss some more first?'"_

"_You know me _too _well," I shot back dryly, "What'd they find?"_

"_You're not going to believe it. A ring," he smiled widely._

"_A ring? As in twenty-four carat, wear around your--"_

"_Yeah. A ring-- a class ring. With an engraving. Belongs to Daniel Crawford."_

"_That's total BS. It was--"_

"_Planted. Exactly. And your dad wants us to prove that."_

---

My eyes lazily slide shut, "Let's get you home," Leo whispers, taking my hand and helping me out of my chair.

"I'm fine," I insist.

"Don't you have Criminology presentation tomorrow?" Dad asks casually.

"Shoot. But it's finished. I don't mind--"

"Veronica, just go," the way he says it is comforting-- soothing.

"We'll call you if anything happens," Alicia cuts in.

"Okay, then. I'll see you two crazy kids later," my eyes rest on their intertwined fingers for half a second, "Love you, Dad," I pause to kiss him on the cheek before Leo and I head out into the cool evening air.

---

"Nice night," Leo muses casually as the car comes to a stop.

"You have such a way with words," I reply sarcastically as he follows me to the doorstep.

We share a long kiss; I taste peppermint in his mouth, "Hmm," I muse pulling away, "is that some trick you learned in your college days?"

"It used to work."

I open the door; Backup runs towards me, barking madly, "Aren't you going to invite me inside?" Leo asks teasingly.

"No," I smile, "Were you under the impression that Veronica Mars was-- what do you call it--? Easy?"

"Can't say I have."

"Well, that'll be goodnight then," I kiss him once more.

"Your dad's gonna be pissed I let you out of my sight."

"You jest! Bye," I close the door and lock it, waiting a few seconds before I can no longer hear his footsteps. Alrighty then; time to get down to business. The person responsible for what happened to Wallace Fennel-- as well as the aftermath is still at large, and must be stopped, no matter what the cost.

---

**The Wrap Party**

"I really don't feel like I belong here," Logan adds in an undertone to his slightly tipsy sister.

"_Relax, _Logan. It's a party. Lighten up and all that good stuff. You only live once, you know."

He rolls his eyes and takes a long sip of his beverage; a clear glass of 7-up. He's been avoiding anything with alcohol ever since the night he foolishly allowed himself to sleep with Carol.

"Hmm, you never followed me around like a little puppy before. What gives?"

"Call me changed."

"Whatever," she pounds another shot. Damn, can that Trina drink.

"What the hell's this movie called anyway?" he asks casually.

"_Neptune: Secrets and Lies. _I love it. Don't you?"

"Original."

"Came up with it myself. Hmm, Veronica seems to be getting along quite well with you."

"What?" he asks, dazedly.

"_Chad Kimball. _He's you. That is, he plays you. Duh."

Logan glances over at Veronica and Chad; her arms are wrapped around him and she's moaning slightly, "They seem to be having fun," he states, matter-of-factly.

"What can I say? She's easy," Trina waves madly at a reporter from _Entertainment Weekly _who's covering the party, "We're likely to make the front-page. Or… at least Veronica's little scandal is."

"She's stealing the limelight from you? Hmm, is this girl _asking _for a death sentence?"

"Oh, you!" Trina punches him playfully on the arm.

"You can always do something in an attempt to upstage her."

"What about you and Veronica?"

"Hmm, I really don't like them trampy--"

"Not _that _Veronica."

"Oh. Her. Nothing. Not anymore. I screwed things up last year… _royally. _We haven't really seen too much of each other-- I don't know if that's good or bad. We dance for a while at some Blow-Out XMAS party last year and--"

"You're so hung up on her," Trina pauses to smile, "that's good, I guess. After Lilly-- I know how hard it was on you. You and Veronica. You guys are meant to be. Epic. You need to give each other time-- both of you needs to decide what's best for you. You two will end up right in the end."

"Thanks," he embraces his sister, glad that he has her.

---

_Leo carefully unlocked the door to the evidence room and led me inside. I stared at the hundreds of boxes; a few were labeled HEARST FRAT BOMB. I smiled, recognizing Dad's handwriting as Leo opened the larger of the two boxes. To my disappointment, I found it empty save a small plastic bag in which the ring had been placed, safe and sound._

"_What's in the other box?" I asked, casually, taking the baggie out of its place and staring at it, marveling at it._

"_Routine stuff; phone records, interviews with family members, nothing special," my hand reached towards it, "Your dad has requested that we examine this," he gestured towards the ring, "he warned me to keep you away from all the other stuff."_

"_That cad," I replied, already formulating a plan to get into the evidence room later on to peruse through the other box at my own leisure, "Has the ring been printed?"_

"_Course. First thing."_

"_And…?"_

"_His prints alone. That means, whoever planted it really thought things through."_

---

**Weevil's**

He watches Carol as she sleeps; her chest slowly rising, up and down. Down and up; how can he still sleep beside her at night? How can he still make love to her the way he did before he knew about Logan-- about all the others? Taking a leaf out of V's book, he'd done a bit of his own sleuthing and had discovered that Carol had an insatiable appetite for men of all shapes and sizes. A smorgasbord of guys.

She was tearing him apart; ripping his heart out and yet he didn't care. He _couldn't _care. His love for her was so strong-- so pure that it was easy to watch her as she lay sleeping at night and forget about all the other guys she'd slept around with.

What the hell's wrong with him?

---

Nothing major has gone down in Darfur since the death of Stephanie Murney. That's a good thing and a bad thing. Good because no one has been injured, bad because I'm no closer to solving this case than I was the day I dedicated myself to it.

---

**The Hospital**

She looks away from Keith the moment her eyes begin to glisten with tears, "Alicia," he whispers, and after having turned her face back towards him, he brushes them away.

"Sorry. I just…" she drifts off and in a crazed wave of emotions, their lips meet; and it feels… _right, _"God, I've missed you," he whispers, pulling away.

"Me too," her hand rests on his cheek, "God, Keith. What are we going to do?"

"We'll just need to take it one day at a time, corny as that is," she smile, he smiles.

Their lips meet again and this is how they spend the rest of the evening.

---

"_Good news, Veronica." _

"_What?" I ask, looking up as Leo entered the room, (Dad had given him a key to our apartment)._

"_They've let Crawford go." _

"_That's wonderful!" _

"_He's declined an interview with the press, but Keith thinks you may be able to weasel--"_

"_Let's get going then," we headed out the door without further discussion on the matter; after Wallace drove himself into a tree, I was busy working closely with Leo on the fraternity case. It was too soon to risk a visit to the evidence room just yet, but I'm a patient person by nature._

_We piled into Leo's car, "Your dad didn't even want to arrest him in the first place but what with the ring being his and no evidence pointing otherwise…"_

"_Had Lamb been sheriff, the guy would've already been drawn and quartered. Dad was just following the books. He has to. You have this guy's address?"_

"_Police officer."_

"_Sorry. I tend to forget-- you're so young and strapping, is all."_

"_Very funny, Veronica."_

_I stared out the window, thinking of Wallace and the frat case; some time later, we stopped in front of a huge house, "He lives here?" I asked casually as we got out._

"_Yep."_

_We made our way up the steps; before ringing the doorbell, I stopped myself, "This is sort of a solo act. Would you mind?" I motioned for Leo to hide._

"_You're lucky we're dating," and he disappeared behind a tree._

_After making sure his police-car was out-of-sight from the doorway, I rang the doorbell. A few seconds later, Daniel Crawford came out; he was in dire need of a shave. A week in prison had taken its toll; "Hi. Cindy Casablancas. Neptune Free Press," I offered him my hand but he declined, "I was hoping for an interview."_

"_I said no to CNN. What makes me think I'd say yes to a nobody like you?" _

"_Wishful thinking on my part, I suppose. Look--"_

"_The answer is no," the door threatened to slam shut in my face._

"_Please. One question. Do you have any enemies? Is there anyone who's currently holding a grudge against you?"_

"_Look, Cindy. I'm well-liked; the last guy who held a grudge against me was some ass I knew in Law School. End of story," with that, the door slam shut._

"_Gee, Veronica, that went well," Leo smirked, reappearing._

"_Does our frat bomber have a career in law?" I asked reasonably._

"_If only," he replied and we made our way back to the car; the attempt a poor waste._

_We remained without a lead. And here was a new question: who the hell planted that ring?_

---

My heart is racing as I enter the room; I spot him lying on the bed and feel that same awkward sense of déjà vu coursing through me once again; he looks so changed, so small… I almost forget how angry I am with him, "Wallace," I sit in the chair beside his bed; his eyes flutter open and focus upon me, "I came as soon as I heard," I whisper, referencing a voicemail Dad had left me.

"Thanks," he murmurs

"How are you?"

"Better," he laughs painfully.

"Goddamn it, Wallace. How could you be so stupid?" for no apparent reason, I suddenly flair up, angry at my best friend for having jeopardized his life a second time-- willingly, "You could have died."

"Well, it's been no picnic living these last six months in case you haven't noticed,"

"A picnic it would've been seeing you six feet under. What the hell were you thinking?"

He heaves a heavy sigh, "Veronica, I lost everything when I lost my hand. _Everything. _No more basketball, no more--"

"But you lived. You're _alive, _Wallace. You could have easily died in Darfur-- it's a miracle you didn't."

"When I came home, I lost everyone. You cared, but you were so distant all of a sudden. It took me a while to realize. My mom-- God, she's been driving me crazy. She was smothering me. I had to get away. I needed to escape--"

"So, you tried to kill yourself?"

He doesn't answer, "I only wish…"

"What?"

"That I could no who it was. Who did this to me."

"I'll find out. I promise you that, Wallace."

"Swear?"

"Bet on it."


	14. Rated Aargh

**Chapter Fourteen: Rated Aargh**

"You two are so…" I stare at the unlikely pair of them; Dick and Mac, Mac and Dick. However you say it, it's… unexpected-- unwanted-- awkward-- _abnormal. _Airhead Dick Casablancas and computer-whiz Cindy "Mac" Mackenzie. Odd, odd, _odd. _Whenever I'm around them, I feel like I've been stuck in an episode of _Ripley's. "…cute," _I finish with a rather forced smile.

"You've always dug me, right, V?" Dick asks casually.

"Like an archaeologist lives to dig up bones."

Mac groans, "Veronica Mars. Your comebacks-- not as good as they used to be."

"You know I'm still badass," I laugh and then look away as they begin one of their already infamous make-out sessions, "Ugh, PDA rule. Remember?"

"What about the PTA?" Dad asks coming in through the door and loosening his tie, "Now, Veronica, I thought that stuff was done with after your illustrious high-school years."

"Illustrious, I'll say. I came _this close _to nailing the Kane scholarship, remember? No, not PTA. P_D_A-- sort of like you and Wallace's mom. Only not as bunny rabbit cute."

He sneers in a sarcastic manner and heads for the bathroom, "I'm hitting the showers. Got a date tonight. I'm hip, cool, _with it," _he inclines his head to Dick and Mac, "Veronica's friends," and disappears into the bathroom.

"Isn't he _adorable?" _I ask smiling a dreamy-eyed smile.

"Whatever you say," Dick retorts, "I'll stick to my lady love."

I groan and turn away just as my cell rings, "Hello?" I answer.

"Veronica."

I recognize the voice immediately and nearly die as a result, "Principal Van Clemmons. It's been _too _long since our last--"

"Let's cut the chit-chat, Miss Mars. I have been, to put it bluntly, 'let go' from the Balboa County district."

"So, you were…"

"_Fired, _Miss Mars."

"And…?"

"You were always one for the 'conspiracy theory.' So, I need you to work a bit of that Mars magic and get down to the high school and find out who had it in for me."

---

My car comes to an abrupt halt in an empty parking space which faces the school, "Watch where you're going, blondie!" a freshman skater shouts annoyed, "Will these pre-pubescent teens _ever _learn?" I ask exasperatedly.

"What are we doing here, exactly?" Mac asks, sliding out of her seat and following me towards the school.

"Principal Van Clemmons. Fired. Some nasty stuff planted on his computer."

"And that's bad _because?" _

"Must you be so difficult?" we head in through the doors.

"What? He busted me freshman year for exploiting a senior."

"You what?"

"The guy photoshopped me doing… never mind."

"You computer geeks."

Mac ignores me, "And to think I was so naïve to have believed I would never set foot in this crap-hole again in all my life," she gestures around us as the students file into the first period classrooms.

"There's a familiar face in the blur of nobodies," I point to the aforementioned individual and Mac groans.

I peer into the open locker "Class of '08? That'd make you a senior… but to me, you'll always be Butters."

"It's _Vincent," _he spits the name out; little rascal and turns to face us-- his eyes rest on Mac, "Well, it seems the beautiful get more beautiful."

"While the geeks just get geekier," Mac replies vehemence dripping from each and every word; geesh, one ruined prom nearly two years ago and she's still bitter. Go figure.

"You two. So… But-- _Vincent, _seems your dad was fired from the district. Care to elaborate?"

"Let me guess. He hired _you _to 'investigate?'" he finishes the question with air quotes.

"How very nineties of you. And yes."

He snorts, slamming his locker shut, "Good luck, Mars. I've got AP Bio. So…"

"I'll have you know I am an officially registered Private Investigator. I aced my test and all. Care for the credentials?"

"I'm sure you keep them Velcroed to your chest, but… AP Bio awaits," he turns on his heel to exit.

"Not so fast, Vincent. I'm not being paid _half _my going rate to relive my years as a student here."

"What do you want, Mars?"

"Your dad wasn't very clear on why he was… 'let go.' Care to elaborate?"

He sighs, "I'm surprised you haven't heard. It made the eleven o'clock news… At least that's what Aunt Eunice told me when she took me home that night-- quite unwillingly, might I add-- seems they found child pornography on dear old daddy's computer. Catch ya' later… hopefully not. The opposite goes for you, lady love," he bows to Mac and exits.

---

I head home from NHS unfulfilled and confused as hell; after having poked around for a couple of hours, Mac and I were spotted by a security guard and given the boot. Now, we'll have to wait till Thursday to get back in as it's the next day we have a mutual free day from Hearst.

It's so surreal and unbelievable. Mister Principal Van Clemmons-- formally Vice Principal Van Clemmons a closeted pedophile? I think not. Whoever planted the evidence had much to gain. However, that route doesn't check out as well as I would have anticipated. Currently, there is no Principal at Neptune High School; they're bringing someone in from the Los Angeles district. No faculty member at Neptune, in any manner, could have profited from the set-up. It's enough to make my head explode.

I head into the apartment to smell the fragrance of chicken parmesan, "Dad?"

"Close enough," I spot Leo wearing an apron (how cliché of him) and busily stirring a pot of home-made marinara in the kitchen, "Surprised?"

"Hmm. You've just performed my greatest fantasy…" I pause to kiss him lightly on the lips, "…although I _must _say; your masculinity? In severe question. So, where's Dad?"

"He was running late at the office and is spending the night with Alicia; he didn't want you to be alone."

"And you complied? Deputy D'Amato, what on earth are you expecting here?"

"What's the usual going rate?"

"You pig."

He laughs and I excuse myself to do a bit of digging on the computer.

---

I tiptoe out of my bedroom and spot the keys lying on the table. I know it's wrong; I know it's ballsy as hell, but I know a place that'll make me a copy of a key at one in the morning. I need to get into that evidence room; what Leo-- and my dad for that matter, don't know, won't hurt them.

---

**Wallace's**

"Take it easy, honey," she whispers breathlessly watching her son enter the house.

"I'm fine, Mom," Wallace replies; taking care not to sound too annoyed.

"We're lucky we got you home so soon," she closes the door behind them.

He's been out of the hospital for a couple of hours; they stopped to have a bit of lunch on the way home-- his mother understood how he could barely tolerate the poor excuse for food he'd been force-fed while staying in the hospital. He'd gotten off extremely well given the condition of the car, which had been totaled; other that bruises covering his arms, legs and head, there was no damage to speak of.

"You're going back to Hearst tomorrow?"

He nods, "I'll have loads of work to make up but I can deal with it."

"Wallace, I…" she drifts off, not knowing what to say.

"I love you too, Mom," and they embrace for the first time since he left for Darfur.

---

"Veronica, do you actually think we're going to accomplish… you know… _anything?"_

"I'm sure of it. All we need's a gimmick. You gotta have a gimmick."

"What?"

"Never mind."

The hallways of the school are empty and lonely as hell; fourth period is currently in session, "Oh, there's the trashcan I threw up in after cheerleader tryouts!"

Mac stares at me annoyed.

"What? No more bulimic jokes? I'll have to rewrite my standup routine."

"Let's cut to the chase, Veronica… You find anything interesting online?"

"I found the name of the tipster."

"And, how, exactly, did you manage that?"

"Never you mind my ways, naïve one."

The bell rings and students begin to file out of their classrooms; I spot the girl responsible for having Van Clemmons fired and flag her down, "Bernice? Bernice Prescott?"

She beams at hearing her name called; a trashy sophomore girl with huge earrings and a _very _revealing ensemble, "Yes?"

"Cindy Casablancas-- former Neptune alumni. I was hoping to conduct a bit of an interview. I'm under the impression that you're responsible for getting rid of that filthy pig?"

Her beam fades, "Van Clemmons?"

"The one and only."

"Those pictures he took of me-- they were supposed to be our secret. And he thought it'd be just wonderful to drool over them-- and do God-knows-what-else at school."

She dissolves into tears and flees, "Isn't she _too _much?" a voice asks from behind us.

"Huh? Oh, yeah," I turn to face an African American girl-- by the looks of it, a junior.

"She's been that way ever since that senior kid, Vincent broke up with her."

"You mean Butters? Hmm, what a very interesting turn of events."

---

**Logan's**

He looks around the empty hotel room feeling forlorn. Ugh, he almost wants to shoot himself for using the word but it describes, to a tee, the way he's feeling.

It's been this way ever since Trina left.

Hell, he even misses that skank Veronica.

What with Dick seeing that Mac girl, he's rarely around so it's simply maddening. He opens the envelope without thinking and three pieces of paper fall out onto the floor; he picks the first up and reads.

It's from Trina:

_Logan, I'm not sure if I should be handing these out like they're popcorn but here you go. And remember what I told you._

He stares at the other two pieces of paper; tickets to the Hollywood premiere of _Neptune: Secrets and Lies. _It's then that he's struck with the idea; the solution to all his problems.

**---**

"Butters."

He groans and turns to face me, "What do you want, Veronica?"

"Not too pleased to see me? Let's save the formalities for another time. So, you took nude shots of your girlfriend and seeing as she's seventeen, you dumped her and posted them on daddy's computer to get him fired-- what's the deal, kid? Abandonment issues? Sad about something? Or are you just plain _emo?"_

"What the hell are you babbling about now?" he slams the locker shut, "It might not seem obvious to such a… _Nancy Drew _as you, but despite our differences, I love my dad. Bernice was bitter when we 'parted ways--' so, as a final revenge, she planted the photos on dad's computer to discredit our family, embarrass me, and what-not."

"And you decided to just pass up on delivering this evidence to the School Board."

"I testified for my dad. They didn't buy it. See ya'," and he departs.

When will these skanky girls learn? You can't always get your way 'round these parts. Veronica Mars is back with a vengeance; the bitch is going down.

**---**

After some persuasion, Bernice Prescott broke down and confessed; Mister Van Clemmons is returning to Neptune as Principal next week, all charges dropped-- and all thanks to me.

Where would that precious man be without me?

---

I file out of my Sociology class feeling drained and ready to go home and fall fast asleep. The trip to the Balboa County evidence room will have to be put off until a later date; oh, well. The key is waiting in my pocket for use.

"Veronica!"

I turn to face Logan.

"Oh, hey," I try not to sound surprised at seeing him. I'm actually rather glad, "How's Trina?"

"Gone."

"She took her… little friend, I gather?"

"Yeah."

"What's the dealio this time around? Stolen box of matches? Boxers, perhaps?"

"This actually isn't anything to do with business."

"I'm listening."

"Well, here's the deal," he hands me a rectangular piece of paper, "It's a ticket," he adds at my inquisitive look, "For the premiere. Trina's idea. I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go."

"Urgh…" I drift off unsure how to answer, but after staring into his pleading eyes for about a millisecond, I know what my reply has to be, "Yeah, sure."

"Great. I'll be picking you up at around eight…" he taps an invisible watch on his wrist, "Till then, malady," and with a sarcastic wave, he disappears into the distance.

Wait a second.

Veronica, what were you thinking?

Does Logan-- no, he doesn't know.

Veronica Mars, you have a perfectly sweet and sane boyfriend who loves you and does everything in his power to protect you; and you've done the one sure thing that could screw that relationship up for good: you've accepted a date from your ex.


	15. Call Baiting

**Chapter Fifteen: Call Baiting**

"Pick up. Pick up. Pick _up," _I roll my eyes at the dial-tone.

Nothing.

Damn.

I slam the phone down onto the receiver and wrap a jacket around me. It's one of those days-- chilly as hell-- gray skies teasing rain.

"Hey, Wallace. Sorry. Business."

"Look at you, Veronica Mars. Full-fledged PI and you've cast me aside."

"You're _too _kind-- and this better be a good movie choice, Wallace Fennel-- or I'm nixing the friendship for good."

He grins.

Wallace has made a true three-hundred and sixty following his discharge from the hospital; he's actually being _open _with me and our friendship is stronger than ever.

Giggling is heard on the other side of the door and Dad and Alicia enter the apartment; his arm is around his waist and their making love-eyes at each other. They seem to be getting along just fine. Just fine indeed.

"Oh, hello, Veronica," Alicia greets breaking away from Dad.

"I thought you two would be out," Dad points, obviously embarrassed.

"We were just leaving," I grab Wallace by the arm, "Awkward," I whisper as we head out the open door.

"Don't stay out too late, you two," Dad warns jokingly.

"Whatever you say, Pops. Wallace and I were thinking about picking up a couple of hookers but that can be easily rearranged."

"Ha ha," he closes the door.

"So… how's school going?" Wallace asks as we head down the stairs.

"Eh… same ole', same ole'. There's some bitch in my criminology class that's really getting on my nerves but other than that…"

We pile into the car and head out onto the street.

Silence follows.

"You seem… _off," _Wallace muses some time later.

"Oh, sorry. It's a pretty odd case, is all."

Okay, condemn me to hell for lying but Wallace doesn't need to know that I'm on the verge of finding whoever's responsible for blowing off his arm. I don't want to get his hopes up-- mine are high enough for the both of us.

---

**Logan's**

He rolls out of bed and heads out into the living-room ten minutes before his alarm's set to go off. His head is spinning from too many beers the night before.

He jokingly rolls his eyes at the sight of Dick and Mac making-out passionately on the living-room couch, "Get a room, you two," he tosses a pillow at Dick's head.

"Hey!"

They pull away from each other and Mac blushes crimson, "Don't you two like have class or anything today?"

Mac shakes her head, "Nope. So, Dick and I were planning on lounging around the suite for the rest of the day, if you don't mind, that is."

"Young love," he clasps his hand over his heart.

"I'd better shower," Dick surmises and he gets up and heads off for the bathroom.

"Hmm, awkward," Mac observes, staring across the room at Logan.

He takes the empty seat beside her, "You know, that's what I hate the most about Dick; he's _always _hogging the hot water."

"Everyone has their cross to bear."

They laugh, "I always knew I liked you."

Silence.

"Hey, have you talked to Veronica lately?"

"Yeah. I'm 'BFF' status, remember?" she states this with air-quotes, "Why?"

"Does she… talk about me?"

"Not lately… ever since--"

"The breakup," he finishes for her lamely.

"Yeah."

"What's she been doing lately?"

"She's been sort of dedicated with her cases-- V Mars, PI. I'm surprised she hasn't sent you a business card yet."

"Business card?"

She shrugs her shoulders, "That Veronica always was quite a character. Can't deny that."

"Nope," he offers a smile as Dick reenters the room

"You guys talking about Veronica Mars? I saw her just yesterday at the Hearts food court making googly eyes at that Leo guy she's seeing… and she didn't even offer me a fry."

And Logan's heart sinks into his stomach.

---

**Judge's ruling: death**

By Frank Geledzhyan

STAFF WRITER

_At long last, a verdict has been called in the Denise Spellman case who was brutally murdered last summer. _

_Former dentist, Hoyt Wallberg, arrested days following the murder, has been found guilty in murder of the first degree and is set to die by lethal injection as early as next year. _

_The hacksaw which aided the murder was found to have belonged to…_

Veronica, Veronica.

Where have you been lately?

Although it pains me to admit it, the DC case hasn't really been on my mind lately what with Wallace and the fraternity.

Hoyt Walberg… I vowed to get you off and Veronica Mars never breaks a promise.  
---

The car slows down a little before it stops completely and Leo steps out to head into the gas-station.

"Need anything, Mars?"

"This is what I miss when single; the boy-toy so infatuated he's willing to tend to my every whim."

I stare at him, misty-eyed.

"_Today, _Veronica?"

"Huh. And here I was under the impression you loved me-- I'll have a soda of some sort. Diet-- surprise me."

And with that, he heads into the station just as a pinpoint of light appears in the darkness o

outside.

What is this guy? Mentally retarded?

"Umm, excuse me. You're not really supposed to be doing that here, Mr.…"

"Applegate. But special lady friends-- they can call me Doug," he flicks the cigarette out of his hands and puts it out with one of his thousand dollar shoes-- and the place thankfully doesn't burst into flames as a result.

Doug Applegate. Now, where have I heard that name before?

"I'll keep it in mind next time," his limo-driver finishes pumping the gas and he heads back into the car, "catch you on the flipside," he whispers casually, and with that, the car zooms off into the distance.

Leo heads out of the gas-station and tosses me a Coke Zero.

"Thanks," I take a long thoughtful sip.

He slips into the driver's seat and slams the door shut and pauses to kiss me long and hard on the lips.

"Why, Deputy Leo, I do declare… Now I don't know what you've heard about me, but I'm simply not one of those girls."

"Eh, you're nineteen. It'll do."

"You disgust me," I push him away, "now… mush!"

---

Ah, are a valuable asset in this Private Investigator's life; a few nimble key-strokes later and Douglas Applegate pops up.

Douglas Applegate, porn star. And the picture from one of his '90s "classics" does _not _appear to be my man.

"What is this? Research for your next term paper?"

"No. Just someone I thought I saw the other day at the gas-station."

"I think I went to high-school with that guy-- dropped out of school when he turned eighteen… Got a gig in _Whores of Babylon 4_."

"My personal favorite-- and your past of intrigue at last reveals itself."

"And to think I was up for the part before he snagged it from right under me."

"Can you stop? I've just eaten."

"My little girl… Crime after crime solved-- and still all squeamish."

"What can I say? The Care Bears never prepared me for the PI life."

"Well, me and Alicia will be back in a few hours-- stay safe."

"You too."

He disappears and I turn off the computer just as Backup begins to bark at the door barking.

"Backup, chill," I open the door, surprised to see a familiar face.

"Miss Mackenzie-- and no boyfriend in sight. You haven't asked him to hit the road, I take it?"

"Of course not-- but there's something I think you might want to know; it's about Logan."

---

**The Sheriff Department**

Keith clasps his hands together just as Leo pops his head into the office, "Keith, there's some woman. Missing person's case."

"Send her in."

"Sheriff Mars," he shakes the familiar girl's hand before offering her a seat in front of him.

"What's happened, Miss…"

"Goodman."

"Ah, Gia. Veronica's friend?"

She nods her head.

"Last I heard, you were at some swanky liberal arts college in the east. What happened?"

"I was… until yesterday. I decided to take some time off from school and come on down back to Neptune. It was painful coming back but I guess I had to. You know, I'd almost erased the whole your father's a dead pedophile thing from my mind. Coming back sort of brought it back full circle-- Mom took it the worst. She had herself committed last fall, actually."

"I'm aware."

A single tear drops from her eyes and she pauses to wipe it away gingerly with a gloved hand, "Sorry. It's just-- Mom's gone. She was released early this year-- but I don't know what was wrong; a relapse or something. Thing is, she took Rodney from Grandma and Grandpa's around three in the morning and split for good."

Keith's eyes widen in surprise, "Do you have any idea where…?"

Gia shakes her head, "None. Mom was all settled and everything-- she called me last week. She said she was living in a little apartment in Las Vegas of all places. I feel like I've failed Rodney. I'd promised to spend the whole summer with him-- I'd met this guy, Hank and we were planning on formally adopting him just after we'd graduated college."

There's a moment of awkward, dreary silence as Gia stands to leave, "I've decided to take the rest of semester off-- find Rodney. Please. You're just the right man for the job-- I know how'd you feel if something happened to Veronica."

"Of course."

Gia heads out of the room and Keith hastily begins what he does best.

--

Great, Veronica.

So, your suspicions are indeed correct; Logan is indeed still under your spell-- as cliché as that sounds.

This is going to be awkward, but it's nonetheless necessary. You don't want Logan thinking you're a harlot, do you?

"Should I wait outside?" Wallace asks casually.

"That would be vastly preferable, my dear Watson. This is going to be as sucktastic as possible already-- you might just worsen matters."

"You know, I do have some experience being the fifth wheel-- you sure?"

"If he becomes unhinged, pulls out a gun-- you'll be the first to know. For the time being, make yourself indiscreet. Here goes," Wallace positions himself near the elevator, "Thanks. You'll ensure the quick getaway I've always dreamt of," my hand forms a fist and I knock three times on Logan's hotel suite door.

The door opens, "I was hoping it would be you," he grins widely.

"Why does that sound so awfully familiar? And you're just buttering me up, aren't you?"

"No, come on in."

I head inside, and he closes the door behind us; I nearly fate being immersed in so many memories-- the living-room where we'd casually watched flicks and eaten take-out-- the room where we'd…-- but then again, not all the memories were one hundred percent sweet. It was just outside this room where I'd discovered Logan had spent the night screwing one skanky Kendall Casablancas after professing our "epic love," and it was just here, in this very room where I'd stupidly told Logan I wanted him out of my life for good-- when nothing could have been further from the truth.

"So… how's Leo?" he asks casually flopping down on the couch.

"Fine, look, Logan. I'm sorry if I-- if I misled your or anything. I never meant to hurt you."

"I know, Veronica. And you didn't. I wasn't asking you on a date, you know. Just thought you might want to go. As friends."

"Oh."

---

"How'd it go?" Wallace asks as we head into the elevator.

"That was sufficiently awkward. No loss. Would you mind swinging by the Sheriff Department? I'm working a case."

"Veronica Mars, you are one lucky duck that your father's the sheriff-- otherwise, we'd be risking conviction?"

"The jailhouse? Me? You're too funny for words."

---

As Wallace has favored to stay in the car, this is a solo mission.

I head quietly into the evidence room; my hands pour over the phone records of all the Hearst frat victims-- what's this?

I pull out one of the files; hasn't anyone noticed?

This is odd-- _too _odd, in fact.

It seems that Tom Greenfield received a phone call. At three-seventeen PM-- a few seconds before the bomb was detonated. Is it possible that he was paid to detonate the bomb and didn't have enough time to get out of the building before it blew?


	16. Killer Queen

Chapter Sixteen: Killer Queen

**Previously on **_**Veronica Mars: **__Seeing as I haven't updated in months, I was forced to go through the first fifteen chapters, and skim to get a firm grip on what I was planning to do in the remaining seven chapters. I am going to finish this one by August, and start up Year Five. Here's our recap: Veronica Mars, intrepid girl Private Investigator, spent a summer internship in Washington DC. Everything was humdrum until the mutilated body of Denise Spellman was found floating in Slater's Lake. Although Chris Huber, a fellow intern, had Hoyt Walberg convicted, Veronica had reason to believe that the murder had instead been committed by one Gregory Maguire, a practicing surgeon. She was called back to Neptune, however, when she learned that Wallace's right arm had been blown off in Darfur. Keith Mars is now "Sheriff Mars," as it was Vinnie's ties to the Fitzpatricks were discovered; Sheriff Mars is currently dating Alicia Fennell. Stosh "Piz" Piznarski had broken up with Veronica, and he was killed along with other members of a fraternity when a bomb went off in the frat house. Wallace became withdrawn and detached from his family and friends, and got into an alcohol-related car crash. Mac began dating Dick, while Veronica is going strong with Leo. Trina's movie project, aptly titled _Neptune: Secrets and Lies,_ was green lighted, and Logan invited Veronica to its premiere, trying to hide his feelings towards her. In recent developments, Gia Goodman returned to Neptune and hired Keith to find her missing brother, who was kidnapped by her crazed mother. Veronica is determined to solve the three cases which plague her, and has recently learned that frat member, Tom Greenfield, received a call right before the building blew up._

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: Killer Queen**

I've got a grubby five-dollar bill in my pocket which will get me nowhere, my hands are bruised and my hair is wild and unkempt. Bringing up a trembling finger upwards to my face, I discover that my bloody lip is swollen to double its size. My cell phone is trapped in the dashboard of my car thousands of miles away-- I do not know what made me stupid enough to leave it behind. I don't know what made me stupid enough to come up here in the first place; what the _hell _was I expecting? Not to mention the fact that a string of endless lies has me staying up at a convention with Mac somewhere in Vegas; I'm so good I almost have her convinced.

"Veronica!" my heart plunges deep into my stomach; why the hell had this psychopath been tipped off to about me? I gave him a fake at the bar; I knew what I had to accomplish here, and now I was all alone with him. I was trapped in a confining space which was growing to be smaller as I continually ran over the notion that I was trapped in a house with a _murderer._

I want to get out of here-- make a run for the stairs, but there's no way I'm going to make it. He'll find me. In the end, he'll find me and I'll be buried in a ditch, with no one in Neptune the wiser. He's good-- a classic sociopath.

The darkness of the room is bathed in a heavenly glow as he enters; he offers me a twisted smile as he brandishes the knife which he will surely plunge into my stomach; he is suddenly crouched down on the floor beside me, "You're gorgeous," and I taste him in my mouth, as I gag for air. All I taste is cheap beer and stale cigarettes, as he continually strokes my back with the knife.

I try to squirm away from him, but he's too strong-- his arms are muscular and threaten to strangle my neck. I beg for death as his tongue enters my mouth; I scream silently for what seems like centuries, urging him to pierce my flesh with the knife and be done with it.

I never knew what I was in for: _Veronica Mars, prepare to breathe your last breath…_

--

**Two days earlier**

It seems that whoever has accused me of having no conscience in the past is one hundred percent wrong; I _do _have a conscience because the whole Hoyt Walberg thing has been tearing me apart so bad the last couple of days I haven't been able to sleep. So, that's why I've booked a ticket to DC-- which was surprisingly cheap given the fact that it was purchased at the last minute. I've told Dad that I'm tagging along with Mac to go to some vegan convention in Vegas because Dick canceled on her… the story _is _half true, so I'm hoping that no one will see through my clever ruse.

Despite having friends few and far between in Neptune, I have a surprising amount of ties here. I can't be off gallivanting in some other state for too long, so I'm determined to solve the DC case and get home in time for a Sunday night dinner with Dad. This weekend thing will work out great as he and Alisa are going away for the weekend together. It's foolproof.

And it's not as if I've put Wallace and the frat case on the backburner; I'm planning on calling a friend in Darfur several times over the weekend. I think I'm close to solving the case; I hope for my sake-- more than Wallace's-- that I am. I need _some _shred of sanity back. I won't be able to trace Tom's call over the weekend, but I'll do it as soon as I get back home.

The Strokes blast over my stereo system as I ease my car into a parking-space at San Diego Airport; I am nearly trembling with anticipation as I get out of the car, grab my suitcase of belongings, and lock my car-door safely behind me.

_I'm here-- I'm actually doing it, _and I breathe a sigh of relief, immediately being thrown back to the day I last set off for DC. I'd been younger then-- still alarmingly pretty, snarky as hell-- everything had seemed to change following that damned summer. And here I was; months later, and I was still reeling from the repercussions of the summer of '07. Within a few weeks, I would bury that summer and have it burned from my mind. Sleepless nights of guilt and uncertainty would be banished in lieu of sanity's welcome return.

I would be free.

--

Ten minutes after I've boarded the plane, I learn that I've forgotten my cell phone in my car. _God_damn _it, _I think, slamming a hand to my face, _Dad and Leo will be frantic with worry. _

In the end, I decide that I'll purchase a disposable phone in DC, call my two main men and explain to them the situation-- the cell phone situation, not the situation in which I've lied to them and boarded a plane to DC to solve a murder case. I'm not _that _stupid.

After the plane has taken off and the stewardess wheels out her goods, I chew a cup of peanuts thoughtfully wondering if anyone else on this plane has ever solved a murder. You never know-- the ninety year old man next to me who has a slight drool problem may have been quite the stud way back when.

--

**Logan's**

He stares at the phone, debating whether or not to call her; he knows they haven't exactly been on friendly terms, but she _has_ agreed to escort him to a film premiere which will be a shoe-in at the Razzie's. He chuckles to himself, wondering if his roommate is having a good time at that odd convention with his girlfriend. _At least they're not hogging up the couch with their constant love affair, _he thinks amusedly, answering the door for room-service.

He is stupefied to find Gia Goodman standing outside of it, "I know this is short notice," she starts, entering the room, "But the motel I've been staying in has a _serious_ roach problem," she sets her bags on the floor, "Dick and I were always close, so I was thinking I could shack up with the two of you for the next couple of days."

"What?"

"It seems someone tipped off the press that I'm in Neptune. It'd be a great story, right?" she closes the door behind her and follows Logan to the couch, "My dad was a convicted pedophile, he got himself blown up, my mom spent months in a loony-bin, and now, Rodney's missing. Mom snapped and took him."

"Your kid-brother?"

"I've hired Keith Mars… are you and Veronica still dating?"

He ignores the subject, "But your old love-buddy Dick's out-of-town. He's with his girlfriend in Vegas."

"Madison?" she rolls her eyes, "That trash ball."

"No, Mac."

"The computer geek? Boy, I _have _been out-of-touch."

She pulls out a pack of Marlboro Lights, lights one, and blows a puff of smoke into the air, "Cigarette?" she asks casually.

He's surprised by how much she's grown since their graduation from high-school; she seems refined now-- less dorky. "You smoke?"

"I'm no goody two shoes, Logan. God."

He laughs and takes one; he doesn't even smoke.

--

I settle into my motel-room; Dad and Leo are convinced of my safety and all is well. Turns out, funds are running low, so I was unable to shell out twenty bucks for a phone. I called them from the payphone and explained the circumstances. This must be some alternate universe as the honing device in my brain wasn't activated. Thank God for modern science.

I head out the door, and get into my small rented car.

I'm ready to do this. By tomorrow, it'll be over and done with.

--

I pick up Gregory Maguire at his residence and follow him to a seedy bar; if I'm going to do this right, I'm going to have to turn up the charm. I adjust my hair in the mirror and follow him into the bar. I take a seat beside him at the counter, crossing my legs seductively.

"A Diet Coke," I tell the bartender pleasantly.

"You sure you can handle it?" he slides the aforementioned beverage to me in a dusty-looking glass. Guess I'm not drinking tonight. I turn to Gregory, "Do you work out?" I ask, staring at his muscular arms, "You have _gorgeous _arms," I stir my beverage with a red straw.

"Yeah," he says nonchalantly, "What's your name?" he asks casually, scooting a mite closer towards me.

_I may throw up, _I think, "Kate DeCicco," I reply automatically, having chosen the alias weeks before.

"Kate, that's pretty."

_Gag me, somebody, please._

"Thanks, you're very attractive," I bite the straw suggestively.

"So are you," he looks up brightly, "Do you wanna get out of here?" he asks.

"Sure," I answer, "That'd be great."

"Great. I'll pay for your drink."

What a gentleman-- let me get a firm grip on Mr. Sparky.

--

**A hotel room**

Keith is too dedicated to his work to feel guilty as he swiftly exits the room, where Alicia lays asleep in bed. He's been unable to sleep ever since Gia Goodman entered the Sheriff Station and begged him to do everything in his power to locate her brother, Rodney and their loose-cannon mother. Although the PI biz was pretty much a thing of the past, he'd agreed to do the best he could to assist her. The whole story reminded him of a nasty little incident in which Lianne had packed all her belongings, and attempted to withdraw Veronica from school and take her to parts unknown. Veronica was indeed her father's daughter and had been strong enough to blatantly refuse.

His phone rang, and he picked up; he was relieved to hear Leo's smooth voice on the other line, "Hey, Keith."

"What do you know Keith," Keith asked as he eased his way into the parking-lot.

"Just got off the phone with the grandparents; they didn't want to talk at first. Seems Gia left out some information when she first came to you."

"What?" Keith asked.

"You're not going to like it; the grandparents basically handed the kid over. They knew his mother was unstable, knew she'd cornered him with a butcher knife just last summer… seems they didn't want to deal with him anymore. They said he was a handful."

"My God, he's just a kid for Christ sake."

"We're going to have to prepare ourselves for the worst, Keith. This woman is unstable… the kid's probably dead."

--

We entered the dimly-lit room and he put his arm around my shoulders, "God, you're so _tense," _he proceeded to give me a backrub. I nearly tossed my cookies.

"Where's the bathroom?" I asked hastily as he flipped a switch and the room was thrown into light.

"First door to the left," he paused as a dog came barking up to us.

"Aw, he's cute," I couldn't help but to scratch the dog behind its ears.

"She. A basset hound. Her name is Killer Queen."

"Cute," I left the room and entered the bathroom. I splashed some cold water onto my face to steady my racing thoughts, _Well, you're hear, Veronica. Now what? _Killer Queen continued to bark happily in the other room as I straightened my hair. I had to look my best for a murderer; there was irony in there somewhere.

The doorknob suddenly turned, and I found to my utter disgust that Gregory had entered the room-- he wasn't wearing any pants, "Cute legs," I stated, revolted.

"Let's get down to business, Kate," and he slammed me up against a wall.

"What are you doing?" I could no longer hide the panic in my voice.

"What do you think? Isn't it obvious how much I want you," he twisted my arm behind my back and I screamed in pain.

"You're hurting me."

"That's what I want to do. I want to hurt you," and I felt his hands around my throat.

"Please."

"I know who you are, _Veronica Mars. _I knew all about you when Chris Huber told me about some meddling bitch who knew too much for her own good," his hands balled up into fists and I felt one come into contact with my lip.

"Chris Huber?" I managed through the blood.

"Yeah. We've always been chummy, Veronica. He warned me that you'd come snooping around sooner or later," he dug his fingernails into my throat.

Fear welled up inside of me, and I somehow managed to shove him off of me, smashing his head into the sink.

I ran out of the room, not knowing where to go; I had two, maybe three seconds tops to hide off somewhere he wouldn't expect me. Killer Queen barked happily and chased me as I raced up the stairs. It was stupid as hell of me-- hadn't I seen _Scream--? _But I would save myself in the end. I had to.

I found a closet of sorts and tumbled inside. I knew he'd find me soon-- I wasn't ignorant enough to believe otherwise. I panted heavily as I contemplated my many wounds and the notion that I would soon die.

"Veronica!" he screams my name groggily and I panic.

_Please, God, please… _but the door opens. Of course it does. And he stands there, framed in the light of the doorway as if angelic. He's holding a knife, and he falls to the ground beside me. "You're gorgeous," and I taste his tongue as it searches my mouth; I taste stale beer and cigarettes.

His shirt is off over his head, and he struggles to unbutton my pants. I want to be dead. My life isn't worth this; his boxers are down to his ankles now as he continues to caress my back with the sharp blade of the knife, "You're no virgin," he slams me up against the wall, "You'll love it."

I scream and a second figure suddenly enters the room; Killer Queen. She lunges at her master and bites his strong legs. He screams in fury and kicks at the dog as it bites him again. I thank God for having invented such creatures and in the struggle that follows, grab the knife, and roll over on top of him, "Put your pants back on, Greg. Put them back on or I'll kill you myself."

Killer Queen exits the room, satisfied, and a calm voice speaks, "Gregory, have you lost your mind?" I look up; it's Amanda, his wife.

"Please call someone," I beg tossing the knife aside and standing.

Amanda grins viciously, "I will," she promises, "So they can drag his corpse off on a stretcher."

I realize that she's holding a gun; it seems my karma is getting better, "Get up off the floor, Greg," she spits, repulsed by his naked body, "Get up!"

He stands; she points the gun to his chest, "You think you're going to do it again, Greg? Hack some poor girl to pieces?"

"This bitch deserves it," he hisses.

"Did Denise?" she cocks the gun, "You sick bastard. You envied her, didn't you? You wanted her just because she was mine."

I am floored… Denise and Amanda were lovers?

"You can't handle beauty, Greg, can you? So you killed her. You raped and butchered her, and expected me to stand around and continue to stay around in this screwed-up marriage… you think I didn't know? You think I didn't know about all the other girls?" she laughs crazily, "The only one I ever loved!"

"You knew?" he gasps.

"Of course I knew. Killer Queen found her body before you threw it in Slater's Lake, and now you get yours, Greg."

And she pulls the trigger.

Once, twice, three times.


End file.
